“You’ve finally left the table, and what a simple thought you’re starving ’til you’re not.”

- Swift, Taylor. “Opalite.” The Life of a Showgirl, Republic Records, 2025.

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Treating a thought like a place — a favorite place. Reliving it in my mind all over again when I am sad and anxious. We looked happy in each other’s company while enjoying our favorite food. Whenever we struggled to find a place to eat, we found ourselves going back to that restaurant.

Years passed, and I thought that place would forever be part of our lives. Suddenly, it started to deteriorate. I heard it was declining too. A new menu for damage control — our favorite food had fallen out, and rusting gears could be seen everywhere.

And you know what happens next, right? When one gear starts to rust, the whole rhythm falters.

I was so lost in translation. It was all in my head. Why was I reliving it over and over again? It was a simple thought that brought me out of my insanity. Whenever I was sad and anxious, I thought of you and what we could’ve been. Whenever we were confused, we ran back to each other, thinking it was the only saving we needed. It became a really bad habit that lingered in our system. We thought we could make it by simply forgiving each other — but I forgot to forgive myself.

I thought we could redo everything. That every time we were starving, we could just go back to that restaurant anytime we wanted. But every time we started again, it molded a different version of me, little by little. Every time I forgave, I thought my patience was getting stronger — but my tolerance couldn’t keep up. It was like falling dominoes, where one trigger sets off another, and in a blink, everything left for me fell apart.

In that brokenness, I found strength. What I once saw as weakness became my only armor in this battlefield I was in. When I could no longer handle the pain in my stomach and the racing of my heart, I stared vacantly at the ceiling. My tears couldn’t even come out anymore. I was like a soldier struck down, lying helpless on the ground. What more could I do? I was far too tired to face the elephant. I couldn’t even raise the white flag anymore, but the signs were obvious.

Now, it is a bittersweet sight for myself. I stopped breathing that day, but I didn’t die. I left the table and starved at first — until I didn’t.

I didn’t know how terrifying growth was until I became the most unbothered person in the room. I didn’t like stone-cold tea — not until I sipped it myself. I cherished books, but it was also fun tearing the pages I didn’t like. And bad habits are no longer figurative. Despite the ambiguities and ironies, what was once dreamed to be seen now rests in anonymity, loving the beauty of a prolonged hiatus.