I’ve taken a bite of a new fruit. It is… distinct. A sharp tingle to the tongue, like a battery. And so I keep taking bites of this fruit, ignoring all the others in the basket. Like the sonnets before, like the ramblings of youth, I consume in great greedy mouthfuls. Every tear of skin, of flesh, of core. This unique fruit, it reminds me. The sensations of “who are you?” The flash of melancholy when you saw them for the first time. Incomprehensible. Idiotic. The memory of being made fun of by a complete stranger. To be spurned. To be spurned forward. Hedonistic heathen that I am, juice dripping from my lips. Familiar now. As in the flowers, and the clouds. Always different. Always new. Reminded.