feast

For the first few days after you left I couldn't eat anything.

But as time grew so did my appetite.

I took things slowly.

A spoonful of baked beans, a few bites of an apple.

Now, I prepare myself huge banquets. 

I devour old text messages and chow down on the scent of you that's left on my pillow.

I always leave my image of our future selves for last.

I like the taste of what we could have been.