From Crumbs To Feast

There was a time I sat in my own misery like a prisoner grateful for stale bread. Each breath through the pain felt like begging, as if the body had no choice but to accept suffering as its master.

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But I laugh now. How foolish it is to take crumbs and call it life, when the body holds within it the full banquet of sensation. Misery was never sacred—it was a trick of the mind, a ration handed through invisible bars.

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I see it now: we are not here to thank suffering for scraps. We are here to dare the body to feel good, to breathe until the cage dissolves, to choose appetite over starvation.

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Tomorrow, the process begins not as torture but as enjoyment. The feast awaits, and I no longer sit in line for crumbs.