Some people fall in love with humans. Some fall in love with dogs and cats. Some fall in love with the flowers that symbolize love. I fell in love with a pile of peppers.
They were miniature peppers, each creased and walnut-sized, in a tumble of delicate yellow, ember orange, luxuriating crimson and fragile green on a dark turquoise cloth. I could paint them, honor them by trying to preserve their beauty forever on canvas, but my work could never approach the artistry of nature; my colors would never vibrate with such inner radiance, my shapes wouldn't twist and turn with such intricate elegance. To try duplicating their beauty so lamely seemed like sacrilege.
I could eat them; they were on sale as food. But eating them would require biting into their glowing skin, destroying and desecrating their beauty; to eat them seemed like sacrilege.
I couldn't keep them forever. I needed to eat; eventually, they'd rot. At home, I threw my beloveds into the pot and watched them boil.
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