I had forgotten or dismissed all of the ingredients. jambalaya in the pot, zuppa di pesce, or what have you. regardless, what I’m saying is that something didn’t taste right. so years went by and life rolled along and I got used to the hunger, never choosing to indulge. nothing seemed appetizing. or my palate changed. or I swallowed my tongue in my sleep. I really don’t know. numb: its a feeling of not feeling. hold a flame to the skin or be kissed by a beautiful smile but nothing. No reaction that absence. There comes a time of change. everyone has a spring season. I sat in my winter and got used to the cold. It felt awkward to dream of the warmth of sunshine. where in this pale surrounding were the colors the others played in? Underneath or above or beyond what I saw before me? I heard laughter in a vacant playground. the whiteness stretched out for miles in all directions. Somewhere things were blooming, I just couldn’t see it. You have to be willing to be rescued when the chance comes along.