Write about a character who is addicted to a specific, unique food or beverage, see if you can include 3 or more of these random words: upward, dust rag, humbled, undoing, recipe, hoof, flung, goat
Here is the start of my undoing: you left, but I told myself we were on a break. Love is chemistry, so there must be a recipe, right? I flung too many ingredients into a blender but when I switched it on there I was, still alone. Floating in the centre of the vortex, watching late-night text strings and drunk dials smushing into unused gym memberships and composting kale, swirling in a base of positive affirmations the colour and taste of unsweetened porridge, soles of my feet tingling with the knowledge that whirring just beneath them, fast enough to blur their voracious glint was the triskelion blade of your desertion: you didn't love me, you never loved me, you were not coming back.
Humbled, I climbed out of the blender with no sense of direction. My friends trailed me through their lives like a dust-rag and I picked up fragments of ways to be. Heather had me eating so many carrots that I dreamed in saffron, Dennis caused me to chant until my fillings hummed. But upward seemed possible again when Trudy took me to baby goat yoga. Those kids really knew how to have a good time, turning uptight spines into their own fun park, dancing to no music although everyone was watching, snatching mouthfuls of hair because why not? Everything is delicious. I'm capering now on my own tiny hooves, bleating just because, tip-tapping away on this letter I will never send you because I have a sheer rock face to scale, as soon as I crunch down this zesty tin can and you are just a power-plug pulled three-point blade with nothing left to destroy.
Here is the start of my undoing: you left, but I told myself we were on a break. Love is chemistry, so there must be a recipe, right? I flung too many ingredients into a blender but when I switched it on there I was, still alone. Floating in the centre of the vortex, watching late-night text strings and drunk dials smushing into unused gym memberships and composting kale, swirling in a base of positive affirmations the colour and taste of unsweetened porridge, soles of my feet tingling with the knowledge that whirring just beneath them, fast enough to blur their voracious glint was the triskelion blade of your desertion: you didn't love me, you never loved me, you were not coming back.
Humbled, I climbed out of the blender with no sense of direction. My friends trailed me through their lives like a dust-rag and I picked up fragments of ways to be. Heather had me eating so many carrots that I dreamed in saffron, Dennis caused me to chant until my fillings hummed. But upward seemed possible again when Trudy took me to baby goat yoga. Those kids really knew how to have a good time, turning uptight spines into their own fun park, dancing to no music although everyone was watching, snatching mouthfuls of hair because why not? Everything is delicious. I'm capering now on my own tiny hooves, bleating just because, tip-tapping away on this letter I will never send you because I have a sheer rock face to scale, as soon as I crunch down this zesty tin can and you are just a power-plug pulled three-point blade with nothing left to destroy.
Have you tried candied pecans? ;) Or are you a strictly plain pecan gal?