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Sting and Flavor

Insecurities arising through the steam in the bathroom. I wipe the mirror down and look hard at what is revealed. An older woman stares back at me. Wrinkles and red splotchy skin. Tired eyes. Sexy legs and pretty underwear. I’m wanted; I’m unwanted. Like an onion, you peel back the layers to get to the heart of it all, but you get stung in the process. Laughter and intimacy; insecurities and tears. A dream the night before of good friends praising you and then criticizing you in the same sentence. Insecurities again.

Focus back to the onion. It flavors every dish it encounters; without it, dishes are bland, boring. But to get there, you go through burning eyes and tears sliding down your face. People are like onions. When you cut them, you also feel it. But they bring flavor to your life, once you get past the stinging eyes and tears.