Meringues

The yolks sit alone in the garbage can, tiny suns extinguished by my own hand. This is how I learned to hate abundance. I whip the whites until they stiffen, peaks forming like Fairy Chimneys in Cappadocia, soft spires balanced against centuries of erosion. I’ve only seen pictures, but I wonder what it’s like to live there, balanced on the edge, weightless. I fold the sugar in, slowly, watching crystals dissolve into submission. What I want most is to taste a sweetness without swallowing the guilt.