i never told him now i felt not once had the intention of doing so because a part of me believed that unrequited love is much sweeter than the sour taste of once aquatinted love and not longer acquainted love; never as bitter as the love from a confession cut off at the stem and uprooted from the earth. perhaps it was my fear of my heart being laid out bare- torn apart and sliced to shreds only to fall short of the pan and into the trash instead. that last drop in the bottle no one bothers to get i wasΒ Β never one for cooking but i can't seem to find step one and i don't think i have all the ingredients on how to make this thing called love. how long should i let it bake and how do i know when its ready to share?