Confectionary Kisses

In the winter he looked at her like a child reading love hearts. And she cherished him, her own personal sweet shop. And together they were solid- the candy canes stood up all by themselves. They baked gingerbread houses together, in a suburban cottage, to the sound of Katy Perry.  She was his drug. He took her in infinite doses, a sherbet shot whenever he felt low.

But as summer twirled into view, the ice cream began to melt. The Calippo became too cold to hold. There was no fire to melt the marshmallows, and he stopped making her hot chocolate to keep her warm. But she was no victim. She poured him into a heart shaped mould and, like peanut brittle, he resisted.

 They both became undone like a bag of melted chocolate buttons; messy with inevitable stains. Everything sat on her shoulders like a toffee apple on the end of a cocktail stick. But she didn’t give up. Without him she would be a cupcake without icing. He never told her. He should have told her; how without her he’d be faced with a bag full of skittles, but only the green ones. He hated the green ones. She sprinkled hundreds and thousands over him every night while he slept; so that he woke up content- he admired that magic.

But not every story has a happy ending. After he complained about the raspberries bleeding into his pudding, he crushed the macaroons in his hands along with her hopes of him ever changing. There were too many holes within her soul; she became nothing more than a honeycomb crater. Finally her heart snapped in two. She fled from the suburban cottage leaving biscuit crumbs behind her.