Some say
if love were a dessert,
it would be like apple pie —
warm, cinnamon-scented,
evoking a home
and peaceful afternoon skies.
But others insist
love should be like cheesecake —
creamy, sweet with a subtle tang,
reminding us that happiness
is always a little delicate.
I once loved someone who adored cheesecake.
He used to say:
“Too much sweetness becomes dull,
so love needs a touch of sourness
to make people stay.”
And I loved apple pie —
honest sweetness,
a scent that fills the kitchen as it bakes,
like the way I always wanted
to love wholeheartedly, without fear.
We once sat together
in a tiny corner café,
debating which dessert truly tasted like love.
In the end, we laughed,
realizing every heart
has its own recipe for happiness.
Then one day, he left —
a fork dusted with crumbs
and a half-spoken promise
left behind on the table.
I returned to the same café,
ordered a slice of apple pie,
thinking I would be enough on my own.
Yet in that familiar warmth
lingered a soft tang
that made me think of him.
Maybe love doesn’t need us to choose
between apple pie and cheesecake.
Maybe what we remember
isn’t the dessert,
but the person who once sat across from us.
And whatever dessert made our hearts soften,
love — when it truly existed —
will always leave a taste
we can never forget.
