There once was a girl whose flesh was made of almond paste, her hair was chocolate cream, adorned with raisins and walnuts, her bones rose-scented. She paraded through life with eyes tinted with jealousy staring her down, she wondered where it stemmed from. Every day crows and pigeons attempted to peck at her sugary skin, when it rained her flesh would turn to an almond mush, her chocolate hair wet and dripping over her face and shoulders.
One day, a boy gives her a wool scarf the color of red roses, he says it's to match her lovely scent, validating her digression and seclusion. She thanks him with flushed embarrassment, allowing him to take a bite from her cheek.
The next day, the same boy gives her a necklace made of jade, the color of tea trees, he asks her if she's perhaps into masochism. She says she's never been assertive, there's a tangled web of bitterness always residing in her, allowing him to take a bite from her shoulder.
The day after that, the boy with the peculiar taste in gifts gives her a silk robe, he also gives her some unwanted advice, “you should stop trying to prove something to everyone else, it's annoying.” She doesn't know what to do with gentleness, if that meant to withhold herself. Instead, she allows him to take a bite from her hand, he eats the whole appendage heartily.
On the last day, with a hollowed-out cheek, a missing shoulder, and a handless arm, the boy gives her an oversized sweater, forced laughter, and a guilt trip. He asks her if she's ever known true heartbreak and she says it's her truth, tears staining the sweetness of her marzipan cheeks. In the end, she allows him to swallow her heart whole. She feels seen for the first time in a long time and only for a microsecond.
