There is no level of surprise when I stare at what lays on the plate before me. I knew they'd find their way back to me, they always do. My words. The very ones my tongue pushed forward and lips embraced in effort to release into this world, floating and awaiting judgement. I am sad to say each bite is not so savory. Only some bites seem to drip with the sweet juices that justify the barbaric gesture of licking your plate until it shines. Some of the words are pushed about the same way a 4 -year-old's fork dances around steamed broccoli. This dance can't last forever though. We all know you must eat your veggies before you are allowed to leave the table.
These words are tart and plentiful. Rigatoni of regret swirl about your fork seasoned with peppers of procrastination potent enough to make the nose run and eyes tear. But still they are swallowed and even choked down in efforts to satisfy the hunger. There is an emotional starvation within that needs to thrive and sadly when the sweet and savory run dry, like any starvation, you reach for what is available. Even the most rotted memories gain a level of appeal, anything to fill the greedy belly of the mind. Chunks that have been heavily marinated by the past are gratefully spooned into the forced openings of our being. And we will welcome these poisoned substances as if they were the sweetest of sugars because they have one purpose in common: They fill a place where there could potentially be nothing. And for reasons unknown we will fight to suck each drop of juice from the decomposing fruits that fall from the branches of the soul rather than taking the risk of feeling what it's really like to be fully empty.