Cake Mix

"Would we still be in love five years from now?" she asked me.

I could feel a sense of dread behind that query. Just a hint, bravely disguised as a joke question, but it was there. I could feel that it was bothering her, that it bothered her to even think about it. A waft of bitter poison in a tranquil icy lake.

"Oh I know we'll still be in love." I assured her, then added: "But it would be different. A different kind of love."

That bothered her. "Different?" she asked, a tinge of fear poking its ugly head around the corner.

"Have you ever made a cake?" I said, "You know how good the batter tastes even before it gets baked? Our love right now is like that. Delicious, spontaneous, exciting and slightly messy. Five years from now the batter would be baked. It's a cake now. It's still delicious (some would say even infinitely more delicious) but now it's more mature, solid, comfortable ... more real somehow."

She laughed and we shared one of those rare Zen moments when every little thing feels perfect. A moment where you sing and feel the world singing in harmony with you for once. I felt the heavy air of trepidation lift, and I laughed back as the fresh breeze played with my hair.

"You think a lot about food don't you?" she giggled.

Yes. Yes I do. Damn this diet...