Secrets.
Secrets I hadn't talked about because it's much easier to talk about cupcakes.
It seemed like I didn't really have the luxury of being sad.
My restless mind was under the beaters.
The world was licking me clean, just to throw me into the sink.
I'm aching for it all to be over.
Lost in a daydream of pink and blue frosting, painted over the finest of cupcakes.
Warm.
Too warm for creamy spreads and paintings.
A warm cupcake soaks up the icing, causing it to drip down the wrapper and become a gooey mess.
Too warm to form delicate fondant flowers.
Flowers that would melt on the gooey icing, losing their petals and seeming to wilt.
I jump too quickly to the conclusion that cupcakes could easily cope after being baked alive.
The recipe for success isn't quite as easy as a pintrest list of ingredients.
Sugary bliss is quite comfortable when you're young.
Much more comfortable than growing older.
Colder than leftovers left in a tub.
Try not to stumble over simple instructions bound in a recipe book.
Just take a deep breath and follow your sweet heart.
