Faded ink bleeds into yesterday’s lunch

Faded ink bleeds into yesterday’s lunch,

a moment preserved in a crumpled hunch.

I pulled it from fabric like a ghost from a dream,

reminding me of meals that slipped through the seam.

Prices half-erased, the laughter now faint,

I recall faces I never thought I could paint.

Each line a reminder, of what was once sweet,

yet here it lies, tangled under my feet.