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I've decided to welcome breakfast.
I eat the pancakes he offers me. My appetite is non-existent, but I eat them anyway. And where before, I spat the food out at him, now I chew and smile.
And with cooperation, I get a blanket; musty and itchy, yet warm.
And with a smile, I get a pillow. Flat and hard, yet more comfortable.
And with the repeated acceptance of the pancakes, comes lunch and supper.
Every day is much the same. A pancake and now a strawberry Pop Tart for breakfast. Ham on rye for lunch. Microwave fries and a slice of pizza for supper.
But with every cleared plate, he rewards me. Corn syrup and a rasher of bacon with my pancake. A cheese slice and a side of wheat chips with my sandwich. Ice cream with my pizza and fries.
One day, it's a hamburger with ketchup.
I even
