I wept

I cry.

Or at least, I weep.

I'm sometimes not sure why or when or what or how.

But I do.

Sometimes it's a painting. 

Or a play. 

Or a passage from a book. 

A beautiful moving speech.

Or a Baked Alaska.

Specifically: the Coconut Baked Alaska with Passion Fruit sauce at Oleana in Cambridge.

We go there, on very special occasions,

 and sit outside on their patio (which - to me -  is mandatory)

and I always order it for dessert. 

And every time,

 as its being brought to our table,

 diners stop and turn their heads. 

And watch it.

Because it's like seeing a fawn

 in the forest

 from a moving car.

Or a Yeti. 

A delicious Yeti.

It's strange and fabulous and wonderful-looking.

This impossible, expressive sculpture of meringue.

And every time, after it's set down before me

 and I begin to eat it,

at some point, I start to weep.

Because it's like being a child again

and someone has just told you that you are loved

 no matter what.

In dessert form.