by Ed Garland

Water is perfect and toast isn’t too bad and I actually quite like being hungry. I read that somewhere: “I actually quite like being hungry”. A food writer wrote it one Sunday or I was hallucinating. I’ve been saying it to all the parts of myself to see if any of them will take it up as a mantra.

More than I want to eat I want an email to arrive with a hoped-for response to a long-ago request. Doesn’t matter which one of the plenty it is. My hopes rest on everything. They’re large, there’s nowhere else they could go. After the water there’s coffee if I’m lucky, which I am, so there is. The unlucky me would disagree, but I’m not listening and wouldn’t listen and haven’t got where I am today by listening, it gives you tinnitus. My stomach shrugs like it’s not my friend. If I could only change one thing about my life, I probably wouldn’t bother. One year, I thought I was becoming something.

WORDS-LINKS: I devoured a bird / There is no “me” to speak of

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