Tastebuds.

Photo by Arzu Dutta. Not sponsored.

She was 17 and waiting for the phone to ring. It didn't, yet her heart still skipped a beat at the possibility it might. Maybe she was a hopeless romantic? Or life had an odd way of teaching her lessons?

In her experience, the essence of men never changed. Maybe she just had bad taste? Or did not know how to make them stay.

The shiny, diamond eyed girls entice like the enchanting cakes displays in bakery windows. Men with watering mouths are willing to empty their pockets for them. 

Women are tempting and delicious. But she wondered how quickly the taste of a favourite cake departs the mouth.

She was a warm carrot cake. The one that everyone picks at the café. Not chosen as a birthday or wedding cake, but just as a small treat.

At 21, she matured like a thick mulled wine. She grew into a balance of sugar and spice. However, she was now aware that taste is like rolling a dice. 

So, she started to pour a bit herself into people she met, to see who would stay. But bottles empty quicky. People who love free samples do not usually linger until the next day. 

A few years later, she waited for the phone to ring again. A new man. A new taste. 

Luckily, she didn't let the bottle empty. As she waited, she sipped on a glass of herself. When it hit the bloodstream, she no longer had much left to say.

With her red-stained lips, she began to dance without music.

She was no longer a rosé that made men blush. She became a merlot that could make any heart heart rush.

But she didn't want to, because having her own heart was enough.

Side Note: I've opened up my diary, and let you in on my February 2020 thoughts. Maybe the month of love provoked me to pick up my pen, or maybe it was someone else?