Flash in the Pan
A Quarterly Posting at Tiny Lights
by Lenore Hirsch
Chocolate is the perfect metaphor for romantic love. You long for it. Just thinking about its velvety richness makes your mouth water. You see it in the bakery window or the candy counter and you're drawn to it, as if by magnetic force. You smell what's wafting from the oven and you want to devour it all. It's so bad that it's hard to walk by the third-rate candy bars in the supermarket—you have to talk yourself out of buying one. It's almost dinner time. You had that donut for breakfast.
The funny thing is that, even with the most anticipated taste of the creamiest, not-too-sweet, not-too-bitter bite of chocolate, the thrill doesn't last. You may devour the whole pan of brownies or the entire box of See's, but the satisfaction you get disappears somewhere along the way. It's too rich. The sweetness is cloying. You feel the calories migrating to your hips, followed by guilt. Having what you desired stops the longing, at least momentarily, and with its loss, the flush of pleasure is gone.
So it is with romance. It is defined by the futility of the longing. It's a relationship that truly can never be. The glance of blond hair, teasing eyes and muscular frame that once made your nerve endings tingle dissipates to a vague annoyance that he needs a shave or his gut is hanging over his belt. He wants your attention all of the time, when you are otherwise occupied, or worse, he no longer wants your attention at all. The guy you thought could do no wrong suddenly has so many bad habits. You've taken too many bites to appreciate the sweetness of what you once had. The pleasure is gone and your depleted desire can only be regained by a nice, long, fast.
Lenore Hirsch tastes romance and chocolate in Napa, CA. email@example.com
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