Tastebuds (Ours)

That year had tasted a bit different.
That year tasted like green tea leaves, honey, and spring water. It tasted like the first breath of cool Autumn air after a burning hot Summer. It tasted like the cherry blossom trees shaking in the wind, and the fragile scent that floated behind the breeze. It tasted like the pastries in the window of the bakery down the street: warm, fluffy, and welcoming.
It tasted like his mother tucking him into bed at night, kissing his forehead, and whispering, "You're my moon and all my stars, Minghao. And someday, you'll find someone who will make you shine even brighter."
It tasted fresh and comfortable, and Minghao grew to like it.