The Weight of Sweetness

It is 3:15 am, and the house is holding its breath. In the dark, the memory of a meal feels like a ghost. We spend our days consuming things—flavors, colors, the warmth of a sun that promises everything will be alright. We believe that if we can just capture the perfect moment of indulgence, we can anchor ourselves to the earth. We think that by holding onto the sweetness, we can keep the bitterness at bay.

But the night knows better. It knows that the plate will eventually be empty and the light will shift. We are always chasing the next comfort, trying to fill the hollow spaces with things that melt away. We mistake the satisfaction of the senses for the resolution of the soul. Is it possible to be full, yet still feel like something is missing? Or is the hunger the only thing that is truly ours to keep?