There is something special about cutting open a passion fruit with a sharp knife. A sour and crunchy slurp that nourishes the cells behind my forehead. Sometimes when I’m thirsty I choose fruit instead of water. Maybe I am addicted to the sweetness just as much as the power behind its tart. A small crack on my dry lips lets in a sting. But I allow it because everything heals eventually. And I won’t stop loving these fruits even when I know it comes with a little pain.

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