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he poked his stomach, echoing the emptiness inside it. he pushed up from the bed, and hastened down to the kitchen.
on the side by the fridge, the old ratted, peeling paint of a greenish-blue matched his mood. he felt ill inside. the freshly painted colour white shone the most. maybe there is hope.
as soon as the fridge door opened, the hunger vanished. the sight of a doughnut was blocked by the thoughts of her. he pushed the door with a slight touch.
behind him was a dark wooden table set for two. it was inconvenient to add to the amount, considering it was just her and him.
he pulled out the seat and plopped himself on it. with both legs pulled tightly in, his left forearm laid on the table while the other reached out for a toothpick.
while his mouth played around with it, the old-functioning radio sat near him. he flicked through till he heard a brand new album, from a favourite artist. that didn't meet his need, his eyes rolled as he switched it off.
his hand flat open, pushed down as he stood up and lounged off, strayed from room to room. he left his chair open, even without a thought.
even when he waits, passing by his favourite restaurant. eating his temptations. but that doesn't please him.
he ponders, if only he could hold, feel, take one piece of her. he would be at ease.
