Soft Cookie
My last relationship left me damaged. That probably sounds like everyone with a broken heart. Not only did I have a broken heart, I had some broken bones, some bruises, and a miscarriage. Don’t bother throwing a pity parade. My friends already did, and even then I still blame myself for everything.
I was a mess the first few months; not eating, not caring, no motivation. I crawled, more like dragged, out of that hole. It was no less than a miracle, but more of a misplaced book falling on my head.
It was an old photo album. Inside were, of course, photos. A page was stuck and I tried to pry it open. Written on the pages was an old recipe. I never noticed it before, always passing the stuck pages, assuming it was never stuck.
So I went out and bought the ingredients, utensils (no bakers or cooks in this household), and I got to work. The first batch I made didn’t come out right at all. No idea what I did wrong. So, after trial and error, I eventually got it right. They were delicious, amazing chocolate chip cookies.
I shared the cookies with friends and family. They were amazed at the cookies, gobbling them up and asking for more. I tried different recipes, experimented with old ones. I had found a love for baking.
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