I am addressing my stomach, it complains that it is not hungry
Have I been eating due habit!
It seems serious, but then I am not upset
My being alone is not loneliness
Pray why!
Why do I eat like a parched earth drinking the first rains
It must be love, of food itself.
Author’s Note:
This piece isn’t about hunger as desperation or eating to feel alive.
It’s about my love for the taste of food itself — how even at odd hours, that love can feel like a dialogue with my own body.
Sometimes I don’t eat even when I’m hungry, not from disorder but from habit, control, or timing.
It’s a small reflection on how appetite, taste, and self-awareness mingle in quiet moments.
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