It never judged me or criticized me for being fat or not pretty enough. It haunted my dreams in the form of never ending fountains, streams, flowers and hills that stretched on for miles and miles. Sadly, I wasn’t referring to parental love or approval. I was referring to chocolate. It was exactly 5:00 a.m., and it was beckoning me from its well hidden place in my walk in closet. The rich, dark Belgium chocolate my dad had brought back from his latest trip to Europe was robbing me of some much needed sleep. As my chubby feet made contact with the icy floor, all I could think about was how good it would feel to devour the rest of the box. Throwing any restraint I had out the window, I grabbed the silver, metal box from its resting place and sat on my comfy, queen-sized bed. Before opening it, I eyed the intricately carved box with its Christmas theme and admired its sheer beauty. It was definitely worthy of carrying what rested within it. Slowly, I opened it and ran my plump, manicured finger over a perfect, star shaped chocolate.
