🍓 Petunia as Strawberry Jam: Sweet, Sticky, and Always Spilling Over
She was strawberry jam. Bright. Messy. Too sweet to hold for long.
The kind of girl who laughed before she meant it, who posed before the camera was even on. She left glitter on the stairs, perfume on your collar, bite marks on your memory.
People called her dramatic. Too much. But really—she was too often ignored. And jam doesn’t scream. It just spills over.
Petunia Milward never tiptoed. She entered rooms like a sparkler in July, hiding her hope in lip gloss and sequins, asking the world—am I pretty now?
She flirted like a dare. She cried like a secret. She wore heartbreak like eyeliner: sharp, shimmering, and easily smudged.
She learned that sweetness got attention. So she poured it. Too much sugar. Too many jokes. Too many selfies. And still—it wasn’t enough.
He didn’t post her. He didn’t show up. He didn’t say sorry.
But she still wore pink. Still bought the glittery notebook. Still called her sisters on nights she wouldn’t admit were hard. Still tried.
Because jam doesn’t stop being sweet just because someone refused to taste it kindly.
She wasn’t ruined. She was real. And one day— she’ll spread her joy over mornings that deserve her. She’ll find someone who brings toast that isn’t burnt. Someone who stays.
But for now— she keeps the jar in the fridge. Labeled in her own handwriting: “Still good. Just sticky.”