Put Down the Box and Wait

The fluorescent hum of the aisle is loud this early, and you are standing there holding a box you do not want, realizing you cannot name a single thing you actually taste. You have been trained to buy what is expected, to feed a version of yourself that does not exist.

The morning light is just starting to touch the pavement outside, pale and new, and it does not care what you bought yesterday. It only cares that you are here to receive today.

There is a hunger in you that no amount of correct choices has ever satisfied — a thirst for something real, something that belongs to you alone. The light is not asking you to eat the old bread.

It is offering you a spring of water welling up from inside, fresh and unscripted. You do not have to know what you enjoy yet.

You only have to admit you are hungry. The sun is rising on a day where you are allowed to put down the box and walk out empty-handed, waiting for the first true thing to find you.