"Proust summer" I mumble to myself whilst I sit alone in my bedroom, jealous, sick with yearning, thinking I will write, not writing, reading, watching the hours slip past whilst I lose myself in memories of things past.
"High protein" "cottage cheese" "51g of protein" Ok, but how many grams of joy? Does it contain the prospect of pleasure? Will it make me smile? Was it made with love?
"Strawberries are never sweet" "I've never had a strawberry that tasted sweet" "I don't like strawberries" The strawberry will weigh your soul against a feather and reveal its sweetness in accordance with your purity of heart. Hope this helps.