I pick the smaller plate. You assume this means I’m not hungry, when really it’s because I read somewhere that the emptier the plate, the less food your mind thinks you’re eating, so I pick the smallest plate and spread out my dinner as much as possible. You open your fourth drink; the sun is still up. The phone rings and we all jump, but no one answers it. Mail piles up in the corner of the room, but we don’t bring it up. Sometimes it feels bigger than an elephant in the room. Your blankets are on the couch, and pretty soon you will be wrapped up in them. You probably won’t get up for days. I’m not sure how you plan on making money. When I go to bed, I put on kids’ movies just to cheer myself up. It doesn’t help when they tell me Ohana means family, when I know firsthand that family means everyone gets left behind eventually.
Things I Cannot Mention at the Dinner Table, I.S. (via poetnextdoor)








