Being alone in an eerie house sure did things to you. For one, you missed the comfort of the one you love most, the one who made you feel good inside, the one the filled you, the one that made your life complete.
I rooted through my practically empty cupboards rustling up something I was sure would taste disgusting. Piling on my small, chipped little Dora plastic plate, the medicore aroma doing nothing to my senses, instead, they numbed my pain, causing me to miss him even more. He was alway make everything taste better. Feel better. Sound better. Everything.
I swallowed the poor excuse for food, letting it travel through my body, not really tasting of anything. I crossed eyes with my phone, lying face down on the other side of my small table, attempting to resist temptation and calling his makers. they knew me well, about to send him over with a simple ask. Normally, he'd be gone and they'd send me a new one, just like him, always better than the last, I'd gone through about 60 of him this year, sharing with friends, although usually we're alone before I demolish him.
I find myself dialling the number, feeling defeated, we were supposed to stay away from each other, they always told me he wasn't good enough me for me, but I always went back.
1 hour, they said, 1 hour and 12 minutes ago, they knew I didn't like him to come later than what they had told me. A ringing filled the halls of my small home, and I ran towards the door, filled full of excitement, for he was here. In a hot piping box, priced at 9.99, my one true love was here. My pizza.
Yeah, I'm having withdrawal symptoms.
