Late Lunch

I turned my camera on before I sipped my lemonade. I would have wanted to take a photo of your rib-eye steak for my blog but you have already started to devour it by throwing a portion to your mouth. I grinned at you then looked at the round wall clock at the restaurant’s counter. This is a pretty late lunch at two o’clock in the afternoon and I can’t blame you for finishing your food in a wink of an eye.

You must have taken notice of my sheepish smile that you stopped and looked at me as I was halfway through twisting the linguine with my fork. You inquired how my research has been doing. I smirked and could have muttered “agonizing” without thinking, but I said “fine” along with a shrug. You didn’t take it as a good answer. You even bashed me with more queries until the real word came to you. I had no choice but to confess how I can hardly keep my spirit up the past few days. I needed to tell you it’s more than just the blinking cursor syndrome. I needed to tell you it’s more than the need for that spark of creativity.

You gave a small laugh and said “Finish your food now and I’ll get you a hug.”

I looked down at my greasy plate. The buttered chicken breast is still untouched and the pesto, just half its serving. I caught you sharing the sight when your eyes darted back to me as if initiating a challenge.

“No thanks.” I uttered in a tone lower than my usual voice. You just chuckled and came over to the opposite side of the table to give me a big fat hug.


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