Talk:Reaper/@comment-4264287-20160831233318/@comment-4264287-20160831233850

You don't understand what I've been going through. I've been betrayed, and hurt. This isn't your fault, it's not anyone's fault. When I tasted the spaghetti, the taste was fine. I didn't expect the spice. It hurt me. The spice burned my throat, my tongue, my mouth, my soul. Spaghetti, my true love, which I engulfed with great speed, damaged me more than you could ever understand. You don't get it. All these memes and jokes about spaghetti, but I've loved it since I was born. It was perfect. Not the noodles, not just pasta. Spaghetti. Pasta with meat sauce. No one will understand me when I say this, but I have an undying love for spaghetti. And having that spice betray me like that? I don't think I can go through anything like this again. I can taste it, months later, I can taste the burn of betrayal. It hurts. When I was young, I remember the peaceful bliss of stuffing myself with the spaghetti, smooth and silky, the perfect food, the perfect taste. All of my happiness, and bliss, ripped away by just once spice. The pain of this is too much to bear, but I must go on. I must go on.