the crunch as grain after grain of sweetness is whipped into a heavenly foam.
the satisfying crack as a an egg releases the building blocks of patisserie.
the soft whisper of flour against paper.
all these things have a way of combining and easing away the odd sense of emptiness which creeps into my heart sometimes.
melting chocolate. the matte finish. smoothing into dark pools.
baking.
it's my prozac.
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