I put the entire cookie in my mouth.
It almost fills my cavity – large, intact, foreign – and my heart speeds against my ribs as I close my lips. Manifest anticipation.
I close my eyes.
I crush it gradually, my teeth grinding layer by layer to stretch out the stimulation of crunching and flood my mouth with intense, pervasive taste. I press my tongue against my palate and suck, slowly undulating the flavours toward my throat, delaying and extending the moment of swallow. Melting chocolate chips are the leaping joy of running salmon in a river of satisfaction. My head buzzes, I taste with my entire body, nothing else exists.
And then it’s done, only the sticky-sweet aftertaste coating my tongue and tingeing my saliva. My breathing slows. My essence settles heavily into my cells.
For this moment, at least, a short respite from anxiety.
Except, it's not. Because immediately I'm asking myself, why did you do that?
Sabotage.
