I went out for breakfast alone, thinking of you.
Reminded of when we would rush to the diner
Not far from our home, a few hours before noon.
I remember the wood booths, because we wouldn't take tables,
And the French toast and the syrup, eating as many as I was able.
When we would blow bubbles in our milk, mom would ask us to not
But you would join in, and she'd her roll her eyes, and laugh with us lot.
The big family gatherings were always my favorite. 20 plus people all crammed in the corner of Brooks, I can still taste it.
A hint of laughter, a dash of bad jokes, a lot of pancakes,
And a tad of cigarette smoke. But those were the days I felt best, when I look back to them, there's a smaller hole in my chest.
I miss that old diner, where I heard your bad puns
Where we sat down and ate, not just because they served buns.
I miss the feeling that I had when you took me out for pie. But who was I to know that one day you'd die.
I love you. More than anything. And I know you can't come back. But all the same, I'll still cherish those moments, when I remember your name.