What's it like to understand the world? Or even just a tiny piece of the pie you've ingested hundreds, if not thousands of times, to a point where it does nothing on your taste buds but remind you of the things you've done, the things you've come to regret or the people you love that sooner or later, you've lost?
That slice doesn't taste like that to me but it gives me a feeling, a hunger, a longing for a little salt, something sharp on the tongue which grows on me, just enough to calm my stomach and lubricate the rumbles of my restlessness. Yet it fills me with love, like someone special made that pie just for me, and I want to stay and have another and talk about shit, connect, reflect on our mistakes and achievements, but I'm too full to suffer so I stop, and I say goodnight and I go searching for another piece of the pie in this big, fat world, hoping it might satisfy me even half enough as that one did
That slice doesn't taste like that to me but it gives me a feeling, a hunger, a longing for a little salt, something sharp on the tongue which grows on me, just enough to calm my stomach and lubricate the rumbles of my restlessness. Yet it fills me with love, like someone special made that pie just for me, and I want to stay and have another and talk about shit, connect, reflect on our mistakes and achievements, but I'm too full to suffer so I stop, and I say goodnight and I go searching for another piece of the pie in this big, fat world, hoping it might satisfy me even half enough as that one did
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