A food court is definitely not
an ideal place to look for
inspirations, not when your cousin
pesters you to please savour
the damn aging chicken sandwich.
Your fingers cling onto the
ink pen tight, stammering
and itching for some sort of
desperate contact with any
scribble-worthy surfaces.
You think of writing about the
fluffy furball of a kitten you
cooed at by the curb. You think
of writing about the 
gorgeous boy who smiles a
smile which is obviously meant
for your throbbing little heart.
You think of writing about your
friend's outrage towards her
brother who stole her
headphones after she accidentally
stepped on his.
Like a revelation which
descended upon your clouds,
the fact that you are
on a quest to find out
about yourself hits you hard;
so hard until you were
sent gasping for air in absolute
realisation. People turn to
give you funny looks, and your
cousin hisses at your antics.
But you grin instead because the
perspiring watermelon smoothie 
seduces you, and you know
what to write about now.