Hunger Pangs
We are sitting in the kitchen when I ask her if she still loves me.
As she answers, she begins to remove all of the things I don’t like from a paper container of fried rice—the peas, the carrots, the chicken—until there is nothing left but browned rice and slimy onions.
I feel her doing the same thing with her words—spoon feeding me answers of little substance because she thinks I like the taste of them, how easily they slip down to my stomach.
She’s right. I eat it all.
I’m still hungry late into the night.
Photo Credit: r. nial bradshaw
I like the beginning. It’s surprising – I thought you’d have written “…when I ask her if she is still hungry.”
That’s awesome! The analogy, the pace, the ending, everything is spot-on!