
The menu for me isn’t the same as for other guests,
the thrill of life isn’t substance,
it’s the internal surface that radiates bigger than a circumference
that child-like imagination that creates magic for centuries.
The menu for me isn’t the same as for other guests,
i’m alone at an empty table,
while the table next to me proceeds with fake grins, loud obnoxious noises, and giggles,
with the worlds perception wrapped around their little finger.
The menu for me isn’t the same as for other guests,
the other guests are worried about their time of arrival, the time they are seated, the time the food is received.
i’m taking in the essence of the atmosphere, the colors, the melodies, the blissful beauty of fresh faces.
In the menu lies finer details, something in between the lines,
this is me.



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