The value of a morsel of black bread in the palm of my hand: a little bit of life that I stared at devouringly.
Crumb by crumb I ate it, making it last. I closed my eyes like a newborn so that I could savor it and let myself be immersed in its flavor.
If I were not vigilant, someone might take it from me, seize hold of my life, just like that, without warning: every man for himself. I needed to be willing to fast for many days if I wanted to survive.
You had to know how to keep your eyes open to spot a peeling that had escaped from one of the bins, the way you would scoop up a drop of dew nestled in the bottom of a shell.
Hunger made me dizzy. I saw mirages, and stars flashed in front of my eyes. I spent all my energy chasing away visions of plates, cooking, and meals in an effort to calm my imagination. This was an enemy I fought against every day.
For all that, I do not envy those who have never known hunger, because they will never know the joy of a crumb of bread.