A JACKFRUIT

I like jackfruit a lot, but would I cut one for myself? Maybe not digging through thorny, stubborn layers just to reach a little sweetness. But when someone else does it for you,that's a different story There’s love in that quiet, patient act. Cutting a jackfruit or being a jackfruit, isn't just an ordinary act. It's about being till the end, despite the cuts First,as the sweet petals. Then the flesh that turns to curry to feeds you for days. And finally,the dried seeds roasted into moreish Funny how something so rough and guarded outside gives away every part of it just to be with you a little longer. Sometimes love doesn't arrive with flowers or poetry it just comes as a jackfruit and someone's cutting it for you