Through Her Eyes

Isn’t it funny how our world revolves around food?
She said that to me once and I never knew what she meant.

But then I never saw the world through her eyes.

I never saw the coffee cups in every hand as I walked down the streets in the mornings. I never smelt the cinnamon buns, the waft of bacon from those crumpled wrappers, the sight of mouths moving up and down and tongues sliding side to side. I never heard the grinding of the molars as I waited for the train, or the rubbing of fingers on plastic packets were opened and munched on.

Our days are just divided into meals,
She once complained to me.
I pretended not to hear.

But then what do I have to worry about? It’s not like I care what I put into my mouth.

I don’t care what I have for breakfast — as long as it’s quick and easy to walk with. I sprinkle my coffee with too much sugar and use full-fat milk instead of skimmed.

Sometimes I just can’t be bothered and will grab a quick sandwich for lunch. But I never even glance at the back of each packet; at the code that would have unravelled the mysteries of her thoughts.

Sometimes I’ll get an extra plate of chips if I’m peckish and think no more about it — oh and who can forget the Mayo? And some wedges while I’m at it. I feel at ease as I walk through the cafeteria, never feeling overwhelmed by the smell. I can sit down and enjoy my meal without having thoughts in the back of my head.

I’ve never had to stop and look at my stomach, or go out and buy fruit instead. I’ve never come home and raided my cupboards, or lay in my bed crying over my weight. I’ve never had to wake up in fear, feeling the fat rolling over my thighs. I’ve never avoided mirrors and reflections, or cancelled dates because I ate too much in the day.

I’ve never seen life through the eyes of my friend, or the comfort that she saw in mine. I never guessed the hatred she felt or the cage that she trapped herself in. I didn’t say anything when she seemed to vanish, as the hoodies got bigger and bigger. I’d turn my head when she’d order a meal and I’d find it in the trashcan much later.

I didn’t think of the way that she suffered, or the thoughts that never left her head. I didn’t tell her how much that I loved her, and now I guess I never will.