Waiting for lunchtime

I yearn for lunchtime. My hunger inspires me to write about sausages, burgers, ramen, and steak, in detail to torture myself, I don't like myself ha ha. I yearn for a soft, warm roll with butter gently spread across the doughy insides. I crave a masterfully seasoned medium rare steak, firm but juicy. Wish to sip a ginger ale as I cut the steak and it oozes the red delicious blood and spice. I wish to indulge myself with crispy waffles, layered carefully with maple syrup and butter, stacked haphazardly. I wish for a burger, with the buns gently toasted and flaky, the burger itself full of its own individual taste and texture. A beautiful sight with the fries next to the burger. freshly cooked in oil and salted and perfect in that way they everyone desires. the decadence of cake and the horrors of the freezer chicken strips. I wish for a way to experience the taste and the smell and the texture in a way, Too good for words. The chills of the excitement ant the pure intoxicating flavors and aromas cascading upon all of your senses, overwhelming you and filling you with a deeper need to partake in the relief from savoring the essence of the beautiful food. or something.