Pasta al pesto

Smashed basil. Smashed pine nuts. Smashed garlic. Smashed cherry tomatoes.

Everything is smashed like a love gone bad.

What did I do wrong? Wasn't I good enough? Why didn't he fall for me?

As I am making pasta al pesto and pomodorini I wonder what goes wrong in love. Why did Walt Dysney deluded us into thinking there is a Prince Charming waiting to return our Louboutins? Why were we taught to believe in the indisputable glittering happily ever after?

While I think about this, pasta gets overcooked, my eyes get teary and not only I am going to ruin my life, I am going to ruin dinner, which could be much worse.

Get it together Luisa. Because at the end of the day, you are Italian: no matter how sad you are, you must to cook a decent meal.

Life goes on. Like pasta al dente.