Carbo Nation

21 Aug

Damn you.

Damn you, you brown, bubbly vanilla cola. You’ve been living in my fridge for over a week. And every day, I have dreamt about you. About pouring you over ice. Or drinking you straight from the can. Maybe through a straw.

For over a week, I’ve been strong. Even though I came home from brain-busting days of work after thinking about how good you’d be with dinner. I avoided you like peas (fuck peas).

But today, after writing all day, I couldn’t ignore you any longer. Your fizz called to me from across the apartment. And I succumbed.

And you are exactly what I’ve needed. For over a week, my sweet tooth has been crying for attention. And as I’ve given it everything I could think of—chocolate, brownies, cookies—it just couldn’t be satisfied.

Because it desired the hint of vanilla with that cola crispness. It wanted that bite of carbonation. The tingly sensation of an ice cold soda.

As I make quick work of you, vanilla cola, I hate you.

I hate you because I love you.

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