I Ate Dinner Like a Worker on a Break

Dear Delyara, Standing. Quickly. Half listening to somebody else speak. Already thinking about the clearing up before I’d swallowed properly. And halfway through, I had this humiliating thought: I am not having dinner. I am refuelling. That hurt. Because there is a difference between being nourished and being kept going. And too much of my life now feels like the second one. Functional. Sufficient. Efficient. Not tender. I finished the plate. I barely remember the taste.