Grown

Grown

He had never had one of his own before. That’s not to say he’s never had one; he has; it just was more of a hand-me-down, used, worn in a bit. New, he thought, would be nice. Thinking back on that first experience, he remembers running his hands along the seams, the creases, the softness like warm butter when he pressed his fingers deep into it. Fluffy, airy cotton candy, he knew better, that the taste must be something different entirely. But to taste the thing would be … ridiculous. Others had told him that very few pleasures in life were as satisfying as the one he searches for now. The acquisition of it will be difficult, he assumes; well, he rethinks, perhaps to acquire one would be simple, but to acquire the right one, the one he wants to live a lifetime with and within might prove impossible. A lifetime search then; he accepts the challenge.