i love dragonfruit
he mumbles,
a sheepish smile curling his lips.
he was wonderful.
absolutely wonderful,
so wonderful it stole the air from my lungs.
my eyes crinkled in awe, in amusal —
dragonfruit?
his favorite fruit is dragonfruit?
i’d heard of apples,
of oranges,
of berries that stain fingers,
of mango’s golden syrup,
kiwi’s sharp bite,
avocado’s heavy green.
but dragonfruit?
unheard of.
absurd.
perfect.
i tried it once,
just a bite.
a muted flavor,
a sweetness barely there,
and somehow that silence
tasted like comfort.
no citrus sting,
no sugared burst,
just stillness.
just home.
him.
i kept buying it,
one after another.
never enough.
addicted
to that underwhelming sweetness,
that quiet flavor of nothing.
but time peeled back the fruit.
the cons arrived,
loud and ugly.
the thick skin,
so much peel for so little flesh.
and the flavor turned against me,
bland, inconsistent,
driving me mad.
he drove me mad.
so i stopped eating it.
but i missed it,
missed him,
missed the comfort,
aching for what never truly fed me.
months later i saw them again —
stacked high,
royal pink skins,
green tips curved like crowns,
majestic, dangerous,
beautiful, breathtaking.
and i thought:
maybe just one more.
so i peeled it,
hands trembling with want,
lifted the pale flesh to my mouth,
took a bite.
and sighed
into the hollow taste of nothing.
i hate dragonfruit.
