Breakfast Alone

Breakfast alone.

I like it. It gives me a sense of hope, expansive hope, waking up in the morning surrounded by my two cats and the sunlight that streams, good-naturedly, into my room. Filling it up.

In the sunlight I awake, pack my room, put things away, boil water, sit on my couch for some three minutes contemplating something, and sometimes nothing. Then I go to the kitchen and pick out two eggs. I crack them and stir, adding pepper, lots of it. It's my new obsession, pepper. It has a feisty kick to it that makes everything a little more exciting. I take out the ham, chop up the tomatoes. But I forget the toast.

I eat the breakfast alone, in silence, flipping the terrible local newspaper, knowing that you are safely tucked away somewhere, sleeping, your face set in seriousness. That alone comforts me, and gives my breakfast both color and taste.

The problem is my breakfast is now inextricably connected to you.

And yet that's a happy problem.


September 13, 2011 at 1:19 PM Cookie Cutter said...

Lovely little piece. Simple but from the heart.

And ditto to the "terrible local newspaper". Irritates to me have to read it because there isn't much choice.

September 13, 2011 at 2:58 PM S said...

I remember the plate from the Casual Poet cafe days :)

Lovely piece.

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