Hunger games

Woke up again. Hungry again. Heated up the left overs from several days ago. Or maybe several weeks ago. Or  years ago. Or even several lives ago. Have been eating leftovers since then. There's not much left honestly, but I still heat it up over and over. First few days, the leftovers used to taste like the main meal, but as time passed the taste changed. The look changed. The smell did too. Maybe that's why I started to like the leftovers; the meal wasn't perfect anyways. Or was it? I can't remember. Or can I?

Has been a while since the dish is empty. I mean how long do you expect it to feed me. Has been a while. Maybe weeks or years. It's just the dish full of the scent and stains of the original food. I'm heating up the scent. The stains. The dish itself. 3... 2... 1..., microwave beeps exactly like the second time I used it. And the third time and the fourth. The first time was different though. Anyways. Sitting in front of the dish. Nibbling at the aroma. Should keep my eating in check, it's midnight. I keep eating and why wouldn't I. A few spoonful of steam into the meal, and I feel exhausted. Not full yet, just exhausted. And still there is something left for tomorrow. And the next week. And the next life.