No. 52, please

What is your favorite restaurant?

That one eatery with the wilted menus, fake flowers, and bad lighting.

Something unknown’s on mute, flickering across an ancient TV in the top corner. A radio is playing somewhere, you can barely hear the music. There’s a teen at the register, bored but dutiful, and a kid battling their homework at a random table. Pots and pans can be heard, something delicious is sizzling. A woman hurries busily between the tables, an older relative is yelling in the back.

Such eateries exist everywhere, and the food is always exactly what you needed, right at that moment.

Like lighthouses in the dark, these hidden gems are human, necessary, and perfect.

#mondaymood

Listen…

This space where
rather than converse
we talk write text
at each other
not to, forget with
one / another

masses of individuals
so many I-s so many Me-s
screaming soundless
endlessly into the void

hoping for a response
but all that bounces back ping-ping-ping
is the echo of our own voices ding-ding-ding
ricochets and rebounds
off of each other

over and over and over and over and over
(why am I so tired?)
and over again
until the onslaught of words
congeals;

that deafening silence.

In the distance
longed for desperately
written about once again
murmurs of actual conversation –

 

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