I feel sick...
Like a puppy that ate chocolate, I sit there writhing in my self inflicted sorrow.
She has given me her pastry, her sandwich, even her cup of coffee. She did so on the basis that she wasn't hungry. But I know the truth, because I feel the same way, the nauseous feeling of disgust.
And so, as we sit there in silence, her side of the table is barren, with only her empty mug of coffee. Meanwhile, my side has the buffet she had ordered, but the food has gone cold.
She insisted that I eat; but I know I wouldn't be able to take a bite.
The sun is already halfway up the sky, the morning rush has already left, leaving the warm wooden cafe to feel hollow yet with a sprinkle comfort. The cafe has glass walls that overlook the street. Cars zip past, a visual representation of my mind. My thoughts racing, but to who knows where.
With that pained smile, she attempts to ignite a conversation. "So, did you do anything interesting over the weekend?"
