Pesto POV:
I was supposed to be happy. My taste was the best out there and everyone wanted me.
However, when everyone left the restaurant, sadness came to me, my shelf and I (yes, I was sitting on a shelf, they forgot to put me in the fridge).
I felt like I wanted to love but who could a pasta love?? How could I build a relationship with my body?
And what if I didn't like pasta and preferred rice? Could we even build a family? Have children? Would they be called rice-pasta?
Too many questions.
Not enough answers.
No answers at all.
So I jumped.