Breakfast

As I opened my hand survey the bunch of almonds I had drawn from the bag, one in particular struck me as odd. For a moment I was puzzled; how could an almond be shaped so? It was as if it had grown inside-out. Only after a moment of contemplation (over the shape and if I should choose to eat it) did I realize that the concave form the almond displayed was in fact created by another almond nestled against it, sharing one shell.

What became of the other? I reached back into the bag to pull out another handful of almonds hoping that in my selection would be the other half. It was not. Had I eaten it already? Did it end up in a crate being shipped across the country to meet its fate alone?

Suddenly frustrated by my emotional attachment to a nut I quickly threw the concave almond in my mouth and ate it. It was good. It tasted the same as any other, but there was a slight difference in the way it broke under the pressure of my teeth. Again I began to personify the food. Understand that it is not such a stretch to do so, after all it was once a living organism. Our best scientists agree that living things of all sorts share some form of communicative energy.

Despite this I wonder: where is my almond companion? When were we separated? Did we once share the same shell?

Oh, media naranja, where are you?