Chocolates

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
I once heard the old saying that life was like a box of chocolates. I never quite understood where the analogy came from, or how chocolate could ever represent all the things that happen in one's life.

Submitted: November 23, 2011

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Submitted: November 23, 2011

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Chocolates

 

I once heard the old saying that life was like a box of chocolates. I never quite understood where the analogy came from, or how chocolate could ever represent all the things that happen in one’s life. But…if our lives really were represented by the sweet delectable milk chocolates, then I was the kind of person who enjoyed criticizing other people’s chocolate while finding out what kind of chocolate they hated most so I could feed it to them. I got through life enjoying the hateful or annoyed looks on their faces when I rejected their chocolate and the sour taste I left in their mouth after I gave them my own. Even when I did enjoy their sweet chocolates, there was nothing beyond that. I was there to sample the taste, if I enjoyed it I would stop by every once in a while and get some to go, that was it.


Life was like that for quite a while, and I was basically an arrogant critic, it somewhat brought me some fame. I’m not sure how that worked out to be honest, but people seemed to enjoy having that type of person around. I accompanied the group which was considered to be at the high end of things, but it was at a different level than what most had expected. After all, I was a critic. Perhaps that itself was the reason why I was able to hang around. Instead of being accepted for the rich flavor or beauty in the chocolate I had to offer, I was kept around to simply be a buffer and filter out the chocolates which didn’t belong.


That all seemed to change after I met her, though I can’t say myself when that change happened. Your life doesn’t flip in one day after all. When I first met her, I honestly couldn’t say I was thinking that she would change my life. She was like anyone else I had met, she had a box of chocolates snuggly wrapped under her arm that I wanted to taste and either critique and laugh or take a few on the road before showing her my own and seeing expression on her face as I gave her a mix of flavors which she hated the most. There was something different about her though. When she gave me her chocolate…her friendship, I couldn’t lie or just take some with me this time. I couldn’t pretend that I didn’t love the taste, that I secretly hoped my own chocolate gave her the same feeling and taste that hers did for me. But there was a problem…my chocolate. I didn’t know how to make chocolate fit anyone’s taste. I had gone through life only figuring out what flavor a person might hate, not what someone would love. So when she tasted the chocolate that I carried with me, I feared that it would scare her off, that she wouldn’t want to share her chocolate with someone who was so tasteless and bitter. But she surprised me once again, she took it in her mouth, and even with the bitterness that made her face cringe, she gave me the biggest smile I’d ever seen and said she loved it, that it gave her a taste nobody else had. I didn’t understand how she was able to say that to my face instead of spitting it out immediately.


After a bit of time, we were never seen apart. Somehow we had become a couple, and once again, she found a way to surprise me. The question which stuck in my head back when she first tasted my chocolate, she showed me the answer to it. When she had tasted the chocolates that I had to offer, she didn’t just take in the flavor of the dessert. She told me…that chocolates were a reflection, a reflection of what kind of person we are. She showed me what the taste really meant, that the chocolate itself was a gateway to our minds. Just by tasting chocolates, we could see someone’s goals, personality, thoughts, emotions…everything. She also told me one last thing. That this was something that only we shared, and she was right. The reason why I enjoyed her chocolate so much the first time wasn’t because of the taste…it was the friendship that she had to offer. It was then that we were in our own little world…she slowly showed me what it meant to truly understand the taste in the chocolate, and at the same time, how to make my own. After some time we were able to recognize each other’s emotions as if they were our own…just by sharing chocolate. The taste told everything, and we could only see the subtle changes that we put into our recipes to show how we really felt, and there was a difference now. When I wasn’t having a good day and my chocolates turned out a bit bad, I couldn’t hide it behind an extra spoonful of sugar anymore. Even when everyone else had been fooled that there was no difference, she could see when my chocolate had lost its sweetness, no matter how much sugar I added, and she was there to shoulder the bitterness that I tasted when I ate it. I didn’t have to take it in alone anymore, she would always be there to help me through it. It gave me a satisfaction that I had never experienced before, knowing that no matter how bitter my chocolate may have turned out during the day…she would be there to help me clear the taste out of my mouth and offer me her own chocolate to make my day better. When I was having a good day and my sweets were exactly how I wanted them, she didn’t just enjoy them…she enjoyed them with me. It was almost as if her tastes were also part of my own, I couldn’t really enjoy the taste of chocolate unless she enjoyed them too.


All the while…there was something in the back of my mind. Something that I couldn’t abandon every time someone shared their chocolate with me, no matter how hard I tried. Somewhere deep inside myself I felt like I was still a critic, but that I had lost myself somewhere along the road because I no longer critiqued or laughed at people for the chocolates which they offered me. When I was around her, I couldn’t do it, and I felt like something wasn’t real because of that. She had never seen me be a critic, she had never seen me ridicule someone for their chocolate, or my amusement when I made my own to give them a bad taste in their mouth, and in a way I felt no matter how I made my chocolate, I could never tell that part of myself to her. At one point or another though, I felt like I had to, so I tried to tell her, and she said she understood. But it didn’t feel right. If she understood, then she wouldn’t have wanted me, she would have seen the menace, the critic, the asshole which lurked underneath the sweet chocolates which I held and gave to her.


And to add to all of it, there was more. Something happened that changed everything, I met someone, and I began to go to my old habits while I was thinking about the damn things, who would have guessed? I started tasting chocolates the way I used to. It was no longer to try and understand the person that the chocolates belonged to, it was simply for the taste. And this girl’s chocolate…well, I simply couldn’t resist them. It was mutual, in exchange for some of her chocolate, I will give her some of mine, not in the sexual or intimate sense, we were acquaintances, but she didn’t see it that way. At the time I confused myself too, I had thought that perhaps the strange attraction to the chocolates the girl held was partially because of her, but now that I look back at it, all I wanted was the chocolates, I didn’t want the person behind them. I tried to explain it to her, that I was confused…that she was the only person I wanted, but the chocolates which I had began getting addicted to, they fogged my mind. I got greedy and didn’t want to give up the chocolates which I had slowly began getting attached to, and in the end, she told me that if I couldn’t decide, she would decide for me.  She handed me a last box of chocolates, the last one that I would ever receive from her. I never thought in my life that the sweetest chocolate in the world could leave such a disgusting taste in my mouth.

In an instance, everything began evaporating and it was disappearing too fast for me to be able to do anything. Worst of all, I took the cowards way out, I abandoned everything she had showed me and tried to push it behind me, that the last box of chocolates she had given me were simply another box. I remember, one of our friends at the time comforted her, well actually, now that I think about it, I think she had a lot of people to comfort her, after all, she was the innocent victim here. I was the asshole, the culprit who had ruined everything. She deserved to be nurtured through her pain, and I knew that. And all the while, I stood through it, trying to sort out my thoughts and understand what I could do to fix it. But in my mind, I felt like it could never be fixed. I remember when our friend comforted her, he had told me that she was crying, and that it happened a number of times. I thought over it, and realized that I myself had never cried. At the time I thought it was because I didn’t want to feel weak, that I didn’t want others to see the pain I was in, and I gave the demeanor that I didn’t want to cry, even I started to believe that I didn’t want to cry. Now that I look at it after all this time, I did want to cry, it was the only thing I wanted to do, and I did, just not physically. My tears were in my chocolates, they soaked up everything, but nobody ever noticed they were there, only I tasted the bitterness that I put into my chocolates. That’s why I never cried physically, as much as I wanted to. Until someone could feel the tears that fell into my chocolates, I couldn’t cry physically. It would hurt more to share the one thing that only her and I understood with someone who didn’t understand me, even if that one thing was pain.


Strangely, through it all, she came back to me. I don’t know why, I don’t know how, and at the time, I really didn’t care. All that mattered was that she came back. I knew this time that I wouldn’t lose her, that this time I wouldn’t screw things up. We had agreed that we should start new…that it was time to start over. So we threw out our old recipes, and started from scratch. Everything seemed perfect, once again it felt like she was teaching me what the flavors meant, we shared our chocolates with one another again and once again, I felt happy.


But as I said before…everything only seemed perfect. Something was wrong, and I could feel it, I never told her but I was sure she saw that I knew. My chocolate didn’t seem good enough, it wasn’t as sweet…as delicious, or as perfect as she the ones she made for me. I felt like I was a failure…to her and to myself. I felt that I couldn’t satisfy her and make her feel the way she made me feel, my chocolates weren’t good enough for her. What I didn’t understand though, was why she always seemed to enjoy my chocolates, even when I could tell the ones she gave me were perfected and mine were like a bag of cheap M&Ms. I knew what she told me, that the chocolate is only a gateway to what we felt, so even if it didn’t taste perfect, it was because it made her understand me that made her so happy. She had even repeatedly told me that my chocolate was all she needed, that it meant more to her than all the chocolates in the world, that my chocolates did satisfy her. But I was confused. If my chocolates really were telling her what I felt, why she didn’t understand that I didn’t think they were good enough.


It began to dwell on my mind more often as time went on. My chocolates seemed to only get worse while I thought about it. Each day I could taste the bitterness that seemed to be growing in my chocolates. Still, she smiled and happily ate them with me while we spent the day together. Soon it was the only thing on my mind, how she was able to stand it, how she made a perfect blend of flavors for me when I my chocolate seemed so…mediocre. As it began to flood my mind I lost attention of everything, it was the only thing on my mind, why did she pretend, why didn’t she just tell me? Why couldn’t she just tell me that they tasted horrible?


After a few days thought, I finally came to a conclusion. We no longer understood each other’s chocolate…we no longer understood each other. It was the only logical explanation at the time. What I hadn’t realized during my days of deep thought though, was that she had sent me a message. And the message was only a confirmation of my thoughts. She had told me that perhaps we don’t belong together. Once again, I took the coward’s way out. Thinking it was for the better.


We parted ways, and didn’t keep in contact this time. I talked to her once again after a few months…maybe a year, I don’t remember. Things were different though. She didn’t understand why I was trying to talk to her. I felt insulted at the time, so I did something that I thought I could never do. I gave her a box of bitter chocolates. What I didn’t realize though, was that she wasn’t insulting me. That she was just as scared as I was, that perhaps she was asking me why I was talking to her because…she was hoping I’d tell her that I came to share my new chocolates with her. But I wasn’t thinking logically at the time, I was blinded by my anger, or rather pain. The pain that came when you felt you were being rejected. There was nothing in my life that I had ever regretted more than giving her that last box of chocolates.

Even after it all, I felt like I couldn’t keep my mind off her, so I began sampling other people’s chocolates again to keep her off my mind. I figured, I loved her, that’s why I had to let her go, that’s why I couldn’t keep thinking about her, because if I really loved her, I’d understand that no matter how perfect she and her chocolate was, I would never be able to return the favor to her. It wasn’t til what seemed like years later, that I realized something. I had never once told her that I felt my chocolate wasn’t good enough for her. She had understood that on her own, she knew what I was thinking, she could tell just by the way the batch tasted that day, and she tried to assure me that there was nothing wrong with my chocolate, that it really did give her something that nobody else could. But by the time I was enlightened, so much time had already passed by, and after that last box of chocolates I had given her, there was no way we could ever be the same. Even if we could, there was no way I’d find her.

One thing seems to never fade though, no matter how much I try, no matter how hard I try to forget. Every day when my batch of chocolate comes, the taste always leaves some trace of her recipe, no matter how many times I try to forget it. It’s strange though, I never would have thought the analogy of life being a box of chocolates could help explain what I felt so well. Perhaps someday I’ll find someone again who can understand me through my box of chocolates.

 


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