I already left the restaurant—
no longer waiting
for a table or a menu.
I stayed long enough,
hoping there was a seat for me,
but I knew—
there’s no seat reserved for me here.
I could have waited longer,
but waiting for something
that isn’t mine
would only keep me starving
for something
that was never meant to feed me.
Sometimes,
staying feels heavier
than leaving the place
that’s no longer yours.
So I chose to go,
and maybe,
somewhere else,
there’s a table set just for me.













