There are twenty-four chocolates in the box.

You lean over to pick one.

Banana. Lavender truffle. Caramel.

You pick the third one. A piece wrapped in the shade of soil after the rain and shrouded with delicious mystery.

And then you close the box and walk away.

The next day, you open it again.

It's a white chocolate this time. The colour of angels and innocence and a taste that melts in your mouth.

You smile in satisfaction.

Time feels strange, somehow.

Day after day, and all the chocolates go away.

Night after night, and friends leave one by one.

Further and further your fingers go.

Skimming.

Leaping gracefully over me to reach someone else.

Now the box is empty.

There is nothing left.

Because all the chocolates were delicious.

But something is wrong.

When you pop the lid off once again, I realised that.

The sunlight isn't very warm today.

We are quiet.

One of us cannot speak. The other one finds no reason to.

Because I am deformed, a plain chocolate that's misshapen and repulsive.

I am not a chocolate, because I have no purpose.

I have no purpose.

"Mom, this chocolate looks weird. I'm going to throw it away."

You finally speak.

The lid goes back up. I feel your warm hand pick me up, and I stay still.

I know now.

I am a guppy competing with sharks.

The box falls, and it lands somewhere I can't see.

All the chocolates were eaten.

There had been twenty-three chocolates in the box.

--

oof it's been a while since i've tried poetry

i'm trying a different style so it's a bit awkward ahaha