Italy looked at the pasta and began licking his lips. The pasta was so beautiful… he couldn't stop looking at it. It was valentine's day, and Italy wanted to show the pasta how he truly felt about it. He bought some marinara sauce for him.
It was in the morning, and he saw the pasta on a white plate. Italy thought that the pasta looked better on white plates because it complimented the curves on the pasta. He walked up to the pasta.
"Pasta… there's something I need to tell you. I have been holding it back for a long time but I can't any longer. I…." He looked down, somewhat ashamed. "I'm in love with you." The pasta didn't react.
Italy was devastated. He was planning the entire year to tell this to the pasta and now… well now he completely ruined everything he planned. He thought that the pasta felt the same way but… now things were different.
"I… I thought you loved me." He picked up the pasta with his hands. "I bought this for you." He began pouring the marinara sauce on the pasta slowly. "I just wish that you could love me the way that I love you." He stroked the pasta slowly while a single tear fell from his eyes. The sound of the world's smallest violin began playing in the background as he stroked the pasta with his small hands.
Yet, the pasta still did not say anything. "DON'T YOU FEEL ANYTHING? CAN YOU PLEASE JUST TELL ME WHAT YOU FEEL" Now Italy was shouting. He began shaking his fists into the air, angry at the gods for making his one and only pasta unable to speak. "If you don't love me at my worst, you don't deserve me at my best." Italy said. He walked away in a huff and puff.
But, as Italy walked away, the Pasta began to feel some regret for his actions. Maybe he should have said something. But he's a pasta. He can't say anything, that would be impossible. "If only Italy knew how I truly felt…" thought the pasta.
THE END
Note: my friend wrote this on my computer at school and wanted me to post it. Hope you enjoyed.