Fruitful

The day we sat in that small cafe across the street, he told me something I couldn’t forget.

“Imagine yourself a strawberry, fresh, juicy, and sweet.” he started, his eyes catching a spark of passion. “Sometimes you’re sour, because you are a moody person. Now, imagine when it comes that time when you’re rotting. Some cotton like thing comes out of your seeds and you can’t hide them. You can’t hide your flaws because they’re all out in display,” he continues, looking at me with extreme intent.

“What happens after that?” I ask.

“Let’s say a child comes and looks at you. Do you think the child will eat a strawberry like you?” he asked.

“No…” I replied.

“A child won’t accept you. No one will. And here is the part where I come in. where I cut your cotton-flaw out of you and finally eat you, putting you out of your misery.”

His ending smirk rendered me speechless along with his voice. In that moment I’ve never heard vocals so strong, so clear, yet so gentle.

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