I saw those delicious smelling and looking strawberries at the super market and thought I'd reward myself with those for being on an involuntary diet of toast and cereals and going through so many stresses and strains in the last couple of weeks. The packaging was removed carefully and the washing celebrated in a humble ceremony. The starwberries were a deep, bright red and they smelled of heaven. They were perfect.
Until I took the first bite. The smell made me believe I was about to put one of nature's sweetest children into my mouth. But instead it was just like its old, bitter aunt. My anticipations weren't met, like at all, and this made me think about how my life right now is just like those strawberries. Just worse. Because it's my life. And I have to struggle through it. I couldn't stop the tears from streaming down my cheeks. The shock over the unexpected and bad taste made me squat down. I was a picture of misery on the kitchen floor eating red berries made of lies and crying a river over their betrayal.