(This was written in pen back in February 2012. No exact date. Another Blogspot entry.)
I used to love pizza. Every thought of it makes me crave one.
The melting cheese, every possible toppings (not anchovies, though) put, and just enough pineapple to sweeten—all layered above thin or thick crusts.
(Oh, heaven's sake, who leaves the crust uneaten?)
But I think I just had enough, and even more, of it these past few days, the satisfaction decreases. No more happy pineapples, crusts aren't meant to be eaten, and the cheese was an ordinary cheese after all.
I guess I should've minded my servings.