He’d never cared much for strawberries, but that summer
her lips were so stained with the juices that they were all he
tasted. And he’d never had a favorite fruit, but two years
later, a new girl is sat in front of him, laughing at his jokes.
“If you could only eat one thing for the rest of your life,
what would it be?” She asks playfully. And he remembers how
her hands traced the veins in his neck and made their way across
his chest. He remembers her soft breathing and limbs draped
across his shoulders. “Strawberries.” He
tells her. “I could live a life on nothing but
strawberries.”
