“Comfort” Food

Food has always been a touchy subject in my life. Early in life, I struggled with my weight and have never, truly felt comfortable in my own skin.

For over a decade, I typically refused to eat in public. Even at 130 pounds, I was so obsessed with not eating around my friends that I fainted twice that summer.

This stigma has stuck with me so long, that even now–in my most comfortable relationship, I rarely eat–10 months in.

He makes me feel beautiful.

Momentarily, when he kisses me or touches a space on my back.

When his hand is on my hip and we snuggle on the couch.

When he smiles at me with those gorgeous, diamond eyes.

But I don’t like tacos.

I can’t stand pizza.

Sweets make my stomach cringe.

Last night he bought me dark chocolate.

Last night I stayed home and didn’t get snuggles.

He took me on a date; we ate sushi and he giggled at my attempts to use the chopsticks.

It was a delicious, impromptu date.

The best date.

But that dark chocolate will likely get stale, unless he’s a fan or I let the wine flow too free–and my instincts


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