As I've previously written, I have an affinity for these gold-foiled chocolate rabbits, which is more about their expressions than the actual chocolate beneath the foil.
I like them so much, I tend to save the last one wayyyyyyyy past Easter.
On June 1, I contemplated this little rabbit, all alone with its brothers and sisters (duly consumed) and wondered how the rabbit felt.
Did it feel safe from human devouration?
Lonely at the loss of its siblings?
Or perhaps unfilled, since its purpose is not to sit on a shelf but to be eaten?
I'm sure it's painful and scary for a chocolate rabbit (if it could actually feel) to be chomped away.
I'm sure sitting on a high shelf feels much safer.
But just as cats are not meant to hide under the bed most of the time, chocolate rabbits aren't meant to sit on the shelf forever.
In a few years, this chocolate rabbit would likely be good for nothing except the trash.
Fulfilling one's purpose isn't always easy, is it?
Our responsiblities may consume us.
People may not understand us, leaving us alone and lonely.
And because we stretch past our comfort level in the process of becoming, we leave something of our old selves in the growth.
But what happens if we choose the safe, sure road (and really, no road is safe and sure), if we choose to just "sit on a shelf," and let our talents slowly decay?
Just so you know, on that first day of June 2026, I ate the rabbit.
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