Between Savor and Survival

The plate, a small sun. Fork a tiny, eager orbit. Live to eat: the sizzle a promise, the aroma, a map to pleasure. Each bite, a small victory against the gnawing void. A celebration of texture, a symphony of salt and sweet. Fueling the brief, bright flame of this particular day. Eat to live: the mindful chew, a quiet ritual. Carbohydrates anchoring bone, vitamins painting the blood, protein rebuilding the worn. A transaction, necessary and deep. Sustenance, a silent pact with the fragile machinery within. But where does the line blur? When the sun becomes a black hole, pulling all else into its hungry center? When the ritual hardens to routine, joy leached by the sheer necessity? Is it a dance, this hunger and having? A constant negotiation between desire's sharp edge and the body's quiet plea? To truly live, must we not taste beyond survival? And to truly survive, must we not savor the very act of taking the world inside? ©bfa051925