Fatter

[sadoeuphemist]

Do you ever worry about getting fatter? Like,

absent any immediately threatening concerns - you're not unhealthy, no,

nor is it visible on your frame. You look, when clothed,

much like you always have. It doesn't weigh on you. You might not,

by strict definition, be putting on weight.

You've always had that pudge on your belly, the creases

when you slouch; you could take a pinch of your gut and get a handful,

let the rolls slide over each other -

You're healthier than the average person, I want to reiterate that, thinner, just -

Soft. Fleshy. Undefined. Of an average build. You're used to it.

You really should be used to it by now. And yet

you think your jeans are getting tighter - still perfectly wearable, mind you.

You don't need to change, that's the gist of it. You could eat

just as you have been eating. And yet -

and yet and yet and yet - you

can't stop squeezing at  your stomach again and again, in an

absent-minded attempt at revulsion. You have learned

to appreciate hunger, that gnawing sensation

that tells you there's a hollow somewhere within all that fat,

something being eaten away. You manage your portions. How much

do you need to eat to stay alive, really? How many mouthfuls, how many

swallows of water? Take a nibble, and maybe

that'll satiate you. There's no strategy to this, no calorie-counting,

no rigorously-followed diet, no numbers, you see, no

weights on a scale, no tape measures. Because you didn't do this

to lose weight, you see. You didn't start this with a goal in mind, a summer bod,

an old pair of jeans, a body you would like when you looked in the mirror.

All you have is the creeping, unconfirmed sensation that

you are getting fatter.