Thoughts

Chocolate

Chocolate pretzels

Chocolate words

They melt like butter in my mouth and in my mind.

The sweet is laced with bitter – but not quite bittersweet. My tongue scrapes the insides of my cheeks. I taste salt – is it the pretzel or my tears?

I wanted to write you a letter about my salty problem, but I lost my black pen. I used purple instead. Suddenly, it turned blue, like my favorite coat I always wore last year. The coat that I wore to the hospital. The coat that I wore to the school dance, when fat flakes of snow landed in our eyebrows. The same coat I spilled chocolate all over, when I dropped my hot fudge sundae on that Sunday afternoon. People asked me why I kept the coat, but I just shrugged. They wouldn't understand that I couldn't bear to get rid of it because, well, you told me I looked nice in it one time. I smile whenever I wear it.

Chocolate ice cream

Chocolate songs

Drowning me in memories. The ice cream melts on my tongue when I press it to the roof of my mouth. The taste slowly fades, but keeps ringing in my ears. But it's winter, and I'm cold. I shiver, holding my ice cream, looking into your warm blue eyes. Just like my pen. Just like my coat, that I never wear anymore because of that chocolate.

Chocolate coins

Chocolate houses

They won't last. I'm left with a bad taste, a bad feeling. The sun beats down on us, so I imagine the cool taste of that ice cream slipping down my throat instead. Staring into your icy blue eyes, I don't notice my world melt away.

Chocolate bars

Chocolate cars

You love cars. Any kind, but especially Cadillacs. I've got a picture of your 1975 Cadillac convertible taped to my fridge. Maybe we'll go for a ride soon, when you're better.

I have to get out of here. My once-frozen chocolate bar is melting, leaking out of its wrappers. Just like my heart, the gooey chocolate spreads into a messy puddle as I watch your body do the same. All I can see is an outline of who you used to be.

Chocolate eyes

Chocolate sickness

I'm wearing my blue coat again. That's right, the one with the chocolate stain. The one that complements your eyes, when they're open. Your eyes don't open anymore. I still remember those eyes that were cool and detached on a Spring day yet bright and hopeful in Autumn. You always loved the word Autumn. You loved the way it felt on your lips, the way it resounded in the air. It was like chocolate.

Chocolate cookies

Chocolate death

I baked you cookies. I wanted to dye the cookies blue, like my stupid coat and my stupid pen, but I didn't have any stupid dye. You hated the word stupid, almost as much as you loved the word Cadillac. And not as much as I love you. You and your chocolate rivers and your chocolate seasons. Your chocolate Labrador and your chocolate shoes. Your navy blue eyes, full of cold and hot and everything in between; I love you. And I'll love you forever, even though you couldn't be saved and now your eyes are dead and gray like concrete, and you're going to live under the ground now and for a long, long time. I ponder this, and I realize there was only one thing I really needed to tell you. So here it is:

You might not remember the meaning of words as they were given to you. You might not even remember who gave the words to you in the first place, but you will always remember one thing, and that is how the words were said. And I said all of my words like chocolate.