[ WP ] You really want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich . You only have crunch peanut butter . You hate crunchy peanut butter . Tell me a narrative drama of a man put in this heart wrenching situation , and his journey for the lunch he truly desires . I expect to be moved to tears .

He scratched at the two-week long growth on his chin, and glanced at the clock on the wall. 
 
 3:58 PM. 
 
 Putting his glass down on the floor, he slowly climbed out bed and made his way to the kitchen. He felt another wave on his way. He stumbled to the kitchen. He had to have one. 
 
 Opening the last bag of bread on the table, the first tear fell. It was her favourite snack. Every day, she would come home from school, and together they would make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on the kitchen table and talk about her classes. Her teacher, math, geography, the girls who picked on her, the boys who annoyed her. Everything. It was their tradition. Their ritual. Every day at 4pm, it was only him, his daughter, and their sandwiches. Nothing else in the world existed. It was his heaven. She was his angel. 
 
 A peanut butter and jelly sandwich was also the last thing she ate. She could only manage a few bites before the pain of swallowing became too much to bear. He could only wipe away a few crumbs and tears from her face before it became too much to bear. 
 
 Two weeks had passed, and every day at 4:00 PM, he would make himself two sandwiches. It was his tradition. His ritual. He ’ d eat one, and leave the other on the table. Not daring to take a bite. She never let him have a bite. 
 
 Pulling the last jar of jelly down from the shelf, the second tear fell. Grape jam. She hated any other kind, and she hated anything but smooth Kraft peanut butter. He had both kinds, but only the smooth was ever used. He smiled through the tears as he remembered the day they ran out of it. She had taken one bite of the crunchy kind and spit it back out. “ Daddy, don ’ t eat it! ”. She took his sandwich and pushed it away, protecting him. His angel. 
 
 Pulling the last jar of peanut butter down, the third tear fell. Then another. Then more than had ever fallen since he lost her. Crunchy peanut butter. He fell, sitting on the floor, head in his hands. He could still hear her voice. “ Daddy, don ’ t eat it! ” 

