egg sandwiches

Lazy mornings are always the best with you. You never quite liked to wake up early and my brain refused to let me sleep. So instead of turning over and watching your face as your chest rose and fell, I planted a soft kiss on your cheeks and got up off the bed. I’d grab my clothes, strewn on the floor from the night before, and walk out into the kitchen. The house was almost always eerily silent, even though your roommates had been up for hours before. 

I shuffled around the kitchen, in socks and mismatched clothes. Over time I had learned where things were, better than you did at times. I still remember when I pointed you in the right direction of the pizza cutter. It was your drawer. 

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Pulling out the teal blue pans, I tried my best not to make any noise. It’s funny how I had practically moved in, yet I feared my presence being known. I’d riffle through your fridge and pull out everything I needed. Butter from the side door, eggs and shredded cheese from the top shelf, apples and avocados from the drawer just below the bottom. 

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I’d fallen into a rhythm. I knew when we needed to get more groceries and when old bags of bread were close to expiration. Your home was a map I knew how to study. I’d pull down the tiny white bowls and crack four eggs into them, pre-whisking them made them scramble better in my opinion. On low heat and a buttered surface, I’d lay them down and sprinkle them with a handful of spices. I always wanted to add greens, but you hate cilantro and we never bought spinach. The subtle sizzle would fill the kitchen and I’d busy my mind with endless mixing and flipping.  

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I wondered if you were sleeping well. Were you awake yet? I doubted so. I hoped your dreams were peaceful and full of love, and that my absence from the bed did not stir you. I wished I was lying next to you, but you needed someone to take care of the other things while you slept. 

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I plated your food, using your childhood plates and the aging hot sauce from the fridge. I remembered to bring you a napkin this time, you were exceptionally talented at spilling things. Carefully, I walked back to your room, leaving the dishes to soak just for a moment. I didn’t want to leave a mess, but your food needn’t get cold. Cracking open the door, I saw you sitting in bed. Scrolling through your phone, an impassive look on your face and I knew I could stare at you forever. 

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You lifted your head and your eyes caught mine. A smile consumed your face when you saw me, and a blush overtook your cheeks when you noticed the food. I walked over, careful in my stride and set the plate down on your lap. A simple good morning and a kiss passed over our lips and I left you to eat. 

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Who knew that something as ordain as an egg sandwich and an endless pile of dishes made me feel so loved. I couldn’t wait to cook for you tomorrow.