nutella whore

Dear Nutella,

I know last night wasn’t new – another strike for me, another score for you – but these gooey palatable sins have got to swallow themselves into nonexistence, because quite frankly, my thighs can’t handle it anymore. Yes, we can agree that I sought you out, undressed you with my eyes, whatever. But you seduced me. And how could I resist. That dark sticky hazelnut skin, those creamy saccharine globs of brown. Goddamn. I would spread your triple thick chocolateyness all over my lips, morning, noon and night if could. But I can’t. The gym is far, and well, you’re just not worth the trip. I’d ask for one last taste, but we both know where that would lead. So it’s best we stop now. Forgive me.

Sincerely,

trace