Eating is good. Eating is great.
Prompt (Aokaga Month Day 5): Eating
(In which either of them contemplates the many feelings that come with eating, and tries to be poetic about their fateful love affair over a stolen piece of cake. Is it Aomine or Kagami? Take your pick.)
I love eating. I wish I was kidding. Eating every day, eating every hour, eating every food, eating what I want. Eating is something I’m inherently attuned with, and eating hasn’t done me anything wrong. A few bouts with the occasional stomachache, yes, but never anything medicine or a trip to the bathroom can’t handle. I adore eating.
Eating makes healthy a boy. I am still growing, and my appetite knows no bounds. Eating makes me happy. I am best friends with food, and my fondness knows no limits. Eating makes me feel alive. (It does keep me alive.) But as much as I love food and consuming, I am only human, and only recently eating has become too routine, too boring.
Eating with classmates has been fine. Eating with friends has been cool. Eating with my cohort has been great. And yet at the end of every meal that leaves no more room to fill, an emptiness has overwhelmed me, an unceasing cause of discomfort beneath my belly.
It is not the type of void that comes with eating alone. Heck, I have been rarely eating alone. Companionship does crazy things to your psyche, and more often these days, I have entirely avoided eating all by myself.
And yet no matter how I have tried to account for the teeny amount of fulfillment felt by dining with my rowdy buddies, there has been something I am certain that I have been missing.
Eating is good. Eating is great. Eating makes healthy a boy, it not only gains me weight. Friendship can be forged through a meal. Stories shared over or after a meal have become staple to me.
And yet, I have felt lonely.
Eating is good. Eating is great. I have tried to repeat the words, but on my anxiety they only grate.
Until you came.
Eating is good. Eating is great. Eating has been as natural as breathing, until you came and snatched my cake.
Eating is good. Eating is great. Eating has almost become a bore, until you decided to call dinner a date.
Eating is good. Eating is great. But eating with you—it’s got to be the best.
(End of my poetic murder.)