Book: Chocolate

I suddenly felt unbearably sad for her daughter, making up invisible friends to fill the space around them. Only a mother selfish can imagine that she alone is able to fill that space. Selfish and blind.

It is clear that we have declared war, at least out loud it was not expressed.
I'm so glad we found a common language, I say loud and cold.
- I also.

They live. Trying to defend himself from everything. From life. From death.

And if you had dedicated to fulfilling other people's desires, that urge will never leave you.

You can't trust anyone. Even to myself.

Sometimes survival is the worst option possible.

Anywhere I can reach out, grab any of the forbidden fruit, to sink her teeth into the sweet flesh is incomprehensible. This idea is a dagger pokes me from all sides.
"Try me. Taste. Taste".
No one will know.
"Try me. Taste. Taste..."
Why not?

With us lives evil. Evil smiling triumphantly, wearing bright clothes.
A child in fear, I heard a story about how the witch lured small children into the gingerbread house to eat them. I look at her shop in a shiny package, like a present waiting when it will open, and think, how many people, how many souls she has already irretrievably seduced.

And I now have raging wind, is pulling, tugging relentlessly. At the core, where a tiny motionless Piglet, miraculously undisturbed, and the almost familiar sense of something new... Is also a kind of magic, which my mother never understood. And yet I am sure of it more than anything, this originated in me a marvelous live warm.

I dreamed of great achievements, sacrifice and martyrdom. Instead, sell yourself on an empty alarm is not worthy neither of me nor of you.

In six years you are able to understand the subtleties which a year later will be out of your understanding.

The funny thing is that I'm trying to remember how much you loved him once, and remember nothing. One emptiness. Complete.

I also anticipate the inevitability of change. I invented the tale of the consistency is like sand castles that we once built on the shore. Standing before the first of the tide.

Culinary art is akin to magic. I feel like a witch, choosing ingredients, mixing, crushing, brewing, infusing, flavoring spice in recipes from ancient cookbooks.