How love is difficult
Only part of me functions at a time
When you’re with me
I can speak with my mouth
But I cannot use my brain
And when you’re away
My brain ticks into overdrive
Thinking of your hand grasping mine
But although everything I wish to say to you overwhelms me inside
My mouth can never seem to tell you

The circular confectionery tin has been there every Christmas
often replaced, often changed for a different brand
either way
every year we curse our brains and slap our wrists
for the temptation which overwhelms us
and our carefree nature, wholeheartedly encouraged by our family
''Go on, it's Christmas.''

And so, which one do we select?
of course, the one we like the most
the one with the prettiest wrapper
or the smoothest taste
the one we laugh, bewildered at others for not liking

Sneaking downstairs at night to grab a handful of our favourite flavour
to make sure nobody else can have your preference
until
eventually
all of your favourites are gone
so you settle for the ones you like, but would never choose originally
these are the second best chocolates
they have a mediocre wrapper and a pleasant taste
but they are nothing compared to the ones you would always choose

But now, you've had all of these as well
and you stare into the near-empty tin, rattling with the dull sound of the unwanted chocolates
for a moment you contemplate why anybody would eat those ones first
the colours are mundane and the taste is far from favourable

until somebody else walks past
and they peer into the tin
a hint of pleasant surprise sounds from their lips
''Oh, my favourite.''
And they select the 'dullest' chocolate left in the tin
because the faded purple is their favourite colour
and the sharp taste of orange lacquer is their favourite taste
and they wonder why you ate all the caramel chocolates first
because they would have left them until last

And now the tin is empty
every chocolate loved
by a different person
with a different taste
and when you think about what you truly love
you finally understand