White, soft, sweet liquid that tingles my tongue each time I drink it.
It reminds me of when I was still a baby, crying about every little thing.

But do you know what else is white and soft? Blankets and bedsheets. But they sure aren’t sweet.
I feel completely comfortable with them wrapped around me.

As the grey clouds that bring rain fly away and white windy clouds replace them, I’m at ease. The sun shining bright, highlighting the cloud’s presence.

Milky white, they say. I can’t fully understand how the legs before me aren’t a shade close to that. Not even broken white, or ivory white, anything related to the colour “white”.

And milk bottles, slim as a dime. What kind of sick society do we have here? Putting up standards that we have to follow. Then should I also starve myself to be skinny as models?

Now that it’s the 21st century, milk doesn’t have to be white. We have chocolate milk, strawberry milk, banana milk, melon milk. Milk of all shapes, sizes, and flavours. Suited for style.

I don’t have to worry at all. “I can just fit in the chocolate milk land,” I say as I look passionately at my big filled legs. “Anyone as tan as you will fit perfectly there!”


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