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Rated: E · Prose · Emotional · #2235041
Enduring love and loss.
See, I allowed myself to be marinated in the buttermilk that is the sourness of your spirit.

And I allowed myself to be dredged in the unseasoned batter that is the tastelessness of your temperament.

And I allowed myself to be deep-fried in the unfiltered oil that is the toxicity of your character.

And you ain't even put no sides with it; No coleslaw, no cornbread, no mac and cheese.

But this dish best served cold won't be revenge, no.

It's gonna be granny's peach cobbler served à la mode.

Feed my soul.

And drink from the healing elixir of life that is the pure joy of self-love.
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