You live on a feeling, a particular feeling which feeds the very fundamentals of your existence. You seek no second being to understand your fiery desire to feast on this feeling when the time is right and ripe. You know how it started, it was a vanity contest between you and your imaginary friends. They are imaginary like that because friends don’t let friends devour themselves under an uncontrolled environment before a verbal agreement. They take no qualms in kicking you out of the circle when they hold small talks on buying the Bottega Veneta bangle you all set your eyes on earlier in the week. You are too fat to carry it out anyway. They have no idea how much it hurts, haunts and grow. You are planted with a simple idea that you have to get smaller for bigger things in life. Bigger things like a pair of ill-fitting size 23 jeans, the sick pleasure when people start telling you to eat and more importantly, this feeling you feed on subsequently to survive.
You don’t have to know what feeling it is right now, because when it comes, you will. And when it does come, you will learn how consumingly dark your little galaxy is. But that does not matter then, because you will be too obsessed seeking for the little contentment you can get, hopefully every minute, for being the smallest in the circle. This feeling is an intricate compound by itself. You can never try to disorient its structure or fondle with the thought of breaking it up altogether. It is as unstable as hell, the way it is meant to be. It can collapse your very being without a whimper, it can create the strongest facade in no time and it seeps control from you the same way you feed on its existance.
