Every lunchtime, there’s no one I want to tell first
This is a story for you—the one who still reaches to tell someone who has left what’s on today’s menu.
Scenes
- Every lunchtime, there’s no one I want to tell first — Even with your tray in hand, you reach for your phone first. Each lunch, the fact that there’s no one left to tell becomes clear again.
- I pretend I’m fine, but I freeze in front of the menu — Even when you sit and laugh with others, there’s nowhere to hide the wish to tell someone about today’s side dishes first. It’s not strange that this feeling remains.
- 12:20 p.m., opening a photo that never received a reply — While the soup cools, you open an old lunch photo again. Your finger moves across the screen, but your heart stays at that table from that day.
- Longing isn’t only sadness; it’s the memory of what you used to do — After a loss, it isn’t only emotions that remain. The small routine of eating and sharing the news together has been broken, making even an ordinary lunch feel like an empty seat.
- At one lunch today, leave the empty seat for a moment — Today, don’t close the photo right away. Try saying just one thing to them silently. Whether you cry or feel nothing, you can let that response be as it is.
- Even in a lunch eaten alone, the time you shared remains — Your heart may stop again at the next lunch. Each time, you don’t have to explain everything. You can leave one seat for yourself.
Stories by Onyu
- Onyu
- Even after the meeting, thoughts of my parents stay with me.
- Even on my day off, I answered someone else first.
- After the meeting, I come back and start figuring out my living expenses.
- Even after a meeting, I come home and have to explain why I need to rest.
- Just before clocking out, the clock reminds me of a request
- Gray hair reflected in the window on a rainy day
- Right before clocking out, I pause before canceling our plans
- Right before quitting time, just thinking about learning makes me check the clock.