Everytime, after my mother and i had a fight, i'd always eat one of these spanish pastry treats called churros.
The cinnamon sugar always had this soothing effect, the crystals twinkling making this dance on my taste buds, the soft doughy comfort food easing my thoughts. Now the dough just tasted sour and the sugar like sawdust. Promising and soothing nothing. Afterwards my mother sing-songed apologies. And i sang them back. Witch's lullaby. The tension eases but wanes like candelight.
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