Ludicrous Lollipops and Cosmical Cotton Candy

The boy was looking for cotton candy.

He deeply and intensely craved it, as finding this divine pink substance was one of his life goals.

He was strongly convinced that the glorious cotton candy would fulfill him with an unparalleled feeling of sheer and undiluted happiness.

But he hadn’t found his cosmical cotton candy. At least, not yet.

What he did find, was a little, ludicrous lollipop. It was an okay lollipop, sweet and colourful, cute and tasty. At least, for a lollipop.

It was, however, nót cotton candy, that was obvious from the start.

But perhaps this little lollipop could sweeten his life, whilst anticipating the long awaited arrival of the royal and holy rose-coloured queen.

After the boy had kindly and honestly pointed out to the little, ludicrous lollipop that it clearly was nót cotton candy, and that he really wás looking for cotton candy, he side-eyedly gazed at the lollipop, whose sweet smell and stalky sugarbody strangely seemed somewhat seductive.

The lollipop was charmed by the boy’s cotton-candy-honesty, by his kindness and his wit, by his love for music and his delight in games. Not to mention his loyalty to a particular Swedish home furnishing brand.

The little lollipop felt safe, and rejoiced in the boy’s acceptance of all its ludicrous lollipopness.

For a brief moment in time, the lollipop enjoyed the boy, and the boy enjoyed the lollipop.

But the lollipop realized all too well that, once the cosmical cotton candy were to make its epic, grand entrée -tomorrow, next month or in the next century- the lollipop would be tossed carelessly out of the window, without a second thought.

The boy would unhesitatingly declare his unconditional love to the cosmical cotton candy and he would evidently devote his life to it, spellboundly serenading that he would love his rose-coloured queen until his dying day, come what may.

The little lollipop would end up broken on the street curb, the sidewalk-dirt glued to its freshly licked corpse, while in the distance, a bird would sadly chirp a ballad about a torn lollipop lying naked on the floor, with the cold realization that illusions never change into something real.

And so the little lollipop decided, with mild pain in its twiggy bone yet peace in its sweet core, to part ways.

For even little, ludicrous lollipops have self-respect.

And even little, ludicrous lollipops deserve true love, and a fucking serenade.