[poem] Every Weekend

Every weekend it is someone new.

Some of them tall, some short, some dark and some fair.

Sometimes it’s pizza, sometimes a cup of tea.

Sometimes a bright and breezy evening by the beach, sometimes a dimly-lit fancy restaurant.

Every time, there’s a less familiar face in front of me and a menu that eventually does become familiar.

I’ve done this for a while. Even the waiters and the tea vendors are starting to notice now.

Sometimes the pasta is bland, other times, the coffee perfectly brewed.

Sometimes I find the memories of the conversations worthy of being cherished forever.

Sometimes I regret having done it at all.

Some make it to more than one meet. Some remain one-hit wonders. Some make me dream of one day making a family with them. Some make me feel insecure and insignificant.

It does get tiring sometimes. The same routine, only swapped by the people and the place and the food.

But I am still hungry. For food, for conversations and for companionship.

And I will continue to keep having, these weekends, in hopes of finding, the perfect combo that I am craving.