The cinnamon boy and his cinnamon world.

This boy dreamt about wide, fluffy fields of brown sugar and rivers of luscious, syrupy honey. He also wanted rivers of luscious, syrupy sugar and wide fields of fluffy brown honey. But out of all the wishes that tickled and teased his mind, there was one he desired more than any other. He aspired to be more than just the inner bark of a tree, more than just a cinnamon boy. He did not realize that he wasn't just a cinnamon boy, because he could dream, he could hope and wish and cinnamon alone cannot do such wonders. He ran through his cinnamon world, like any other lonesome individual would, looking for friends to play with. The only he could find were strawberry, cherry and vanilla flavored children. The strawberry was always whining and making tantrums about the acne that covered her tender skin. The cherry although being the sweetest of all, was incredibly ludicrous, so much that it got to a point of annoyance. Vanilla always smelled like the beautiful flower he came from, but would give anyone an unpleasant surprise if they found out how bitter he was inside. They were all considerably shallow and easily entertained by taunting innocent souls; they were always making disturbing faces to make the cinnamon boy mad.

He ran and kept running in vain, searching eagerly for a meaning to his life. He was in a battle with himself, that tormented and injured his spirit more and more as the days went by; he fought for his happiness and would do anything in his power just to see his world become more than candles and incense.
One day, while on his never-ending search for joy he found love at the sight of a chocolate flavored girl. The psyche generally relates love with joy, but the cinnamon boy had never felt such rush of feelings bolting feverishly through the inside of his veins, the sensation was so intense he was coerced by some strange force to express it. He said to her with a trembling voice:

-I'm in love with you-.

The chocolate flavored girl only spoke French, and considering she had only heard English from vulgar, ill-bred particulars out of instinct she answered the only phrase she knew:

-Who the hell are you?

Looking at him bathed by the moonlight, she had also fallen in love, yet he didn't know that truth so he departed with his pierced heart throbbing hot, painful drops of liquid diamonds from his eyes. He floated with the wind that chased his fears away and carried his tears to their final resting ground.

-I'm a new boy now, I'm never falling in love again, I'm strong, invulnerable and untroubled if I'm not wrong.

He felt at his best for some time, but like all mirth, it was not meant to last; a big ball of fire passed by dissolving the wax that covered his world and slowly burnt and broiled his body. It was his time, the last moment he could stand in his world and finally admire its beauty.
He died with these unforgettable words:

-What's wrong about being a cinnamon boy!?
-Je t'aime! Cinnamon boy, if that was your name-, grieved the chocolate girl. She cried over his scorched body. His deformed, lifeless face got wet by her tears and they mingled giving birth to a seed which sprouted from the ground as a majestic tree, which filled the world with its scent. It smelled like burnt cinnamon by the way.

The chocolate flavored girl was left forsaken, walking through the requiem of her lost love.
Still, the cinnamon boy was sorrowful because, even if there were strawberry, cherry and vanilla flavored children, he was just a cinnamon boy in his cinnamon world, forever alone.