It is morning, a strange morning, at that.
Somehow, nothing traditionally considered breakfast appeals to me. I reach into the fridge and pull out a snack pack from the bottom shelf. I plop myself down on the couch and absent-mindedly begin to eat. The comforting taste of chocolate pudding coats my tongue and I sigh, remembering. Memories of a big green bowl, dotted with the cool sweat of condensation on the outside and filled inside with a pristine lake of chocolaty goodness. For a second I am nine again, a big metal spoon in hand. I can feel the smooth texture and the sense of pride at making my first batch from scratch.
Then, the dreams I awoke from an hour ago begin to haunt me once more. When my eyes fluttered open, they were salty and stinging with tears that hadn’t quite been cried. My mind ponders the alien grief that made its way into reality. I have no reason to be sad, but somehow this melancholy lingers.
I scrape the last bit of pudding from the recesses of the plastic cup and I begin to type…
Amazing how some sensory things like taste can bring on flashes of the past…I hope your day brings you joy.