A Cookie and A Dance

I ate a lot of cookies tonight, probably too many.
They were crunchy on the outside, play-dough like in the centre; the warm mouthfuls flooded my mouth in gooey chocolate pieces and crackly almond flakes. I positioned myself cross legged on the purple mimic-suede and let the sugary dough sprawl around my teeth and tongue lick away the sweet crumbs venturing around my mouth. The gentle light shadowed around the molasses covered crystals, compacted together that I held in a loose grip, pressing lightly on the castery edges, brown and a little bit crumbly.
They could have done with a little less vanilla essence, but for the most part they were just right.
Perhaps it was unwise of me to convince myself that eating the quantity of cookie that I ate, was okay.
and that size, just for one night, didn't matter.
and that I could start a fresh tomorrow morning, take a bath in ruby watermelon, plump strawberries and sparkling orange juice.
I would go dancing the following evening; see blue horizons sail me far into it's bumpy waters, but give me the sight of wondrous creatures, the ones people believed to have no longer existed; the beautiful, vibrant being that swam beneath the ice-thistle edge, until eventually two people sang the whales song, dispersed the built up negativity, and basked in the glorious sunlight, the painted cream upon the silky water's touch.