Dear Limo,

I have resorted to chewing my own tongue.

The blood, like jars of salt and sugar, brings no flavor to my mouth. Yes, I feel the texture of the blood, more watery than I  expected, to be honest, and it does not linger in my mouth for too long, like a child tip-toeing through the night in a dark room. If I hadn’t spat out red, I wouldn’t even be able to tell it apart from water. Although since I lost my taste, all liquid tastes like water these days. The blood twirls in my mouth like a lone dancer, then with a soft jeté it takes off to embrace the arms of my saliva. I feel like a child abandoned by their mom. But I do not blame it, for there is an awful lot of saliva gushing out from under my tongue, and now it seems to be gushing out everywhere as if the walls of my mouth are nothing but made up of a million watery pores. There is so much saliva I am afraid that it will soon wash out my teeth with its brutality, and I would not even be able to embrace the textures of food.

Oh yes, you can tell that I am hungry, At first a simple disease with a fit of cough and fever, then a metallic taste in my mouth, and when it went, my taste along with it. I feel like a timeless clock, isn’t time measured by the taste of food? In the enjoyment of three meals, a day is chewed off the daunting candy bar of time; in the passing of youth, the sensitivity of taste fades along with it. With what do I measure time with now? With whom shall I bargain with to be able to measure time in such a way again?  Is it a scale I see before my eyes? If I lay enough weight on one side, would my taste be brought back to me?

Oh but someone, for God would even seem helpless in this case, show me what I am to lay on this scale with my taste on the other end, and I will do so bent over and kneeling. Or perhaps it is a simple matter of stimulation. Perhaps the items I have sampled weren’t stimulating enough, do you reckon Limo? Shall I dare for something more? More savory, more sweet, more stimulating. Yes, for certain you cannot melt iron with a breath of humid air. What is the flesh that is the rarest to obtain? The food with the most mysterious flavor, and the most daring to taste? Perhaps the item that I could find my taste in would not even be considered food? Oh Limo, if you had been in my situation, and had felt the desperation I am feeling maybe you would understand my keenness to find my sense of taste again? For food is like vintage bubblegum peeling itself off my teeth, onto my tongue, only to lie lazily on my teeth again. 

Visit me, and cook something appetizing, for the food you bring may stimulate my sense of taste again.

Your dearest friend,

Me