He was a croissant. Golden, soft inside with a crunchy exterior and he made you feel good. Like the way the buttery bread melts in your mouth and warmly slides down your throat—comforting you. The salty taste and fluffy bread tearing down the walls of resistance you’ve built until it rips through your body in ways you didn’t even know could happen. And though the croissant is gone you continue to lick and suck your fingers hoping to catch a crumb. Then you’re left, empty handed and fat.