It’s been weeks – maybe even months.
I still remember the first time I saw you.
It was in early fall. I hadn’t eaten at Hewitt since NSOP (I, a bright-eyed young first-year, was still exploring everything Columbia Dining has to offer) and I didn’t miss it. It was still warm out; I was sitting on Diana roof with two friends – then one of them opened up her Hewitt lunch takeout container. She went along and ate her pizza, but my eye was caught on you.
I couldn’t wait to have you for myself. You were beautiful, glowing in the afternoon sixth floor sunlight. A perfect balance of everything. Layers of fluffy cake and powdered sugar icing, all topped with a perfect layer of coconut flakes.
I began going to Hewitt more often just for you, coconut cake. It became a routine: whatever BS Hewitt was serving that day, followed by a slice. It continued into second semester, warming me up when the weather was cold.
But all of a sudden, you were gone.
The chocolate cake was still there, and the other one filled with strawberries. Sometimes even a pie. But the coconut cake has disappeared from the often-empty dessert area. I didn’t mind at first, thinking it was just an off day. But it’s been over a month – I stopped keeping track – and I still haven’t seen you.
I miss you, coconut cake. Hewitt lunch isn’t the same without you. The other cakes don’t measure up. I go to class with a full stomach, but an empty heart. Please, come back; I’ll do anything. I don’t know what I did to deserve you in the first place, and I don’t know what I did to make you leave. You’re the one for me. I’ll be waiting with extra swipes ready for whenever you decide to return.