What is the point of view story sweet potato pie?

The Life and Times of a Sweet Potato Pie

I’ve always known I was destined for greatness. It began with a simple promise. “You’ll be the star of Thanksgiving dinner,” my maker declared, as she carefully swirled the cinnamon and nutmeg into my golden-brown surface. I felt the warmth of the oven embrace me, the sweet aroma of my filling rising with each passing minute. I was perfect, a symphony of spices and sweetness.

My first memory is of the clinking of plates and the murmur of excited voices as I was presented to the table. Everyone gasped, their eyes widening at my gleaming surface. I felt a surge of pride. My life had begun!

The first bite was the best. I felt the creamy texture of my filling melting on their tongues, the taste of fall captured in every mouthful. I heard the sighs of contentment, the murmurs of "delicious," and the grateful smiles. I knew I had lived up to my destiny.

But alas, my glory was fleeting. My surface, once so shiny, was now marred by the evidence of love - the remnants of sugar, the marks of forks. I was a canvas of joyful consumption.

The weeks that followed were a whirlwind of celebrations and casual snacks. I was the source of happiness, of laughter and comfort. I was the centerpiece, the reason for gatherings, the fuel for stories.

And then, one day, I was gone. Not in a way that felt sad, but a way that felt complete. The memory of my sweetness lived on in the hearts of those who had tasted me. I had fulfilled my purpose.

I knew then, even in my final crumb, that I was not just a pie, but a symbol of warmth, love, and community. I was the sweet potato pie, and my legacy would live on, not in the words spoken, but in the memories shared, the moments of connection.

And in the end, wasn't that the sweetest reward of all?