I’d never cared much for strawberries, but that summer her lips were stained so red that they were all I tasted.
And I’d never had a favourite fruit, but two years on, a new girl sits in front of me, laughing at my jokes.
“If you could only eat one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?” She asks playfully.
And I remembered how her hands traced the veins in my neck and made their way across my chest. I remembered her soft breathing and arms draped around my shoulders.
“Strawberries.” I told her. “I could live a life on nothing but strawberries.”