Morning

I miss waking up to the smell of breakfast. Now I rise at the insistent protests of my empty stomach. I feed myself with instant oatmeal which I only began to eat when I left home. Its blandness is unabashed as I devour it with guilt that always accompanies one that wakes up when it's almost noon.

In the morning, I feel most alone. I miss the people who used to cook breakfast for me. They are some place far off where things are much simpler. They do not know me anymore. I have become too complicated for their comprehension. They always ask me how I'm doing, but I simply tell them I'm okay. They do not know what "okay" means. It means I am having a hard time but still hanging on. It means I try my best to make things happen but they just don't. It means I'm tired so just leave me alone.

This people who used to cook breakfast for me love me, but they don't understand me. They are some place far off where I was much simpler and easier to love. Now I always wake up with hunger and longing and all that I could feed myself is instant oatmeal.