Jellybeans

Something great just happened: I opened my second desk drawer and found the tube of jellybeans I stashed away two days ago. I fear that I will enjoy this profound pleasure only once, as I'll likely finish the remainder of the tube while scribbling down my latest musings into my puke green journal. There will then be nothing left for me to rediscover. Even if I hid the jellybeans from myself again, I would likely remember where I put them this time.

It's almost as though that tube of jellybeans, or better yet, the eye-dilating and mouthwatering response that I conjured while rediscovering them has already converted into a memory. Perhaps you experience this same feeling when you see your crush (Ew, sorry for the use of the oversexed Cosmo word, "crush"). And depending upon your carnivorous propensities, or perhaps, hornyness, you just want to keep staring and building up what is to come or even what it might be by visually consuming the refracted light and natural shapes presented in front of you until it is just a reality, broken down and digested. Don't consume without tasting. Eat your jellybeans and have them too.

Don't convert reality into memories too quickly. Even when you think something is too good to stay, prematurely truncating the actual experience into a memory makes it seem less real. I have yet to even consume the rest of the jellybeans, and I already miss them.

P.S. Don't judge me by the color of my journal. It's not the color of my thoughts.