If she relished my taste in her mouth, would it make a difference? I would have still ended up dead in her mouth, resting on her moist tongue while she decided whether or not to pass me down her throat...
"I tasted rotten."
"Well at least that’s what she said as she spat the moldy taste out of her mouth—that was me. My whole life up until that point living to see if she would enjoy my humble offering, and she did not. Spat me out in her delicate napkin and shoved me aside. So that’s why they say to value the journey—that it’s the process not some preconceived destination. If she relished my taste in her mouth, would it make a difference? I would have still ended up dead, resting on her moist tongue while she decided whether or not to pass me down her throat. The process of my life from seed to flower to fruit to slow death and now its end. But up until this moment, I had a full—a wonderful—life in the sun. I sang with my brothers and sisters beneath the golden rays and huddled close to them in the cold nights. I had a life that was good—a life that was beautiful—and if in its twilight it did not taste sweet upon her tongue, it would always remain sweet in my heart," thought the strawberry.
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