Ｂｒａｉｎｄｕｍｐ ＃３

Oh, starchild.
You crave simple meals. Pasta-- Salt and butter.
But no matter how you make it.
It doesn't taste the same.
In fact, now the butter makes you sick and your tears oversalt the pasta as you push the bowls contents into the garbage.
But still.
You make it over and over, hoping it tastes right this time.
But you don't crave the meal.
You're not even hungry.
No salt or butter or pasta shape could bring back the late morning bath after a nightmare.
Nothing could bring back the warmth of a bubble bath around you as the wolf stirred the pasta in the other room.
Nothing could taste as good as that bowl of pasta as she lays a hand on you-gently- a foreign feeling.
But since then, you're raised by that voice in your head, starchild.
And the pasta you make will never taste the same.
Eat your cup of noodles, Starchild--
eat them and cry.