Vanilla Ice Cream
Tonight he brought me vanilla ice cream. A sweet gesture, you may say, and yet something eats at me.
Am I vanilla?
Perhaps to the shallow thinker there is nothing to this, and yet to me it expresses an idea far deeper.
Either amongst a world full of flavors he sees me as simple, plain, boring.
Or perhaps he is the simple minded one, not wanting to think beyond the drab, everyday, taking the easy way out.
So as I pour chocolate syrup upon the white scoop I wonder,
“Does he even apprehend the colorful person I am inside? Am I happy to live with vanilla?”