Where you would open your eyes and see something impossible to believe I’d have risen before you- we both now know This is just imagination- I could not wake anything resembling the word early.
But I did, the bittersweet draft flowing through my home curiosity walks you from the silver-grey linen wrapped around your legs and the afternoon rays flood your sigh, and you will squint the morning from your eyes I will hope that I had gotten the eggs over easy just right
I’ll see you and open the fridge, pouring you a glass of orange juice “Omar, you actually did it” these words will flow out of your lips And I will melt faster than the butter that’ll go on your pancakes. Yet, I’ll remain cool and composed, give you my tightest smirk And offer Florida’s best to you, ushering you on to the beige couch I’ve been wanting to replace, “Relax, it’s only breakfast” even though we both know this is unusual I’ll throw something chill on to listen to: Majestic Casual.
The playlist will go on shuffle and Imogen Heap will play Something I know you know and I’ll smile like I had known it was to start.
I’ll jump up quick, reactive as I normally am scurrying back alongside my kittens, meowing at my heels, to the kitchen Two yellow pupils contrasted by a black face staring back at me saying, “You had it right on the practice run; not when it counts” I’ll grimace and hunt from cabinet to cabinet looking for a plate knowing each second, the succulent gilded interior was hardening
and of course, the serving dish is in the last compartment I check I’ll slide the golden eyes on to the white porcelain and proclaim, “breakfast is ready.” Bringing the array of food to the makeshift dining room in the center of my apartment, you’ll stand and walk over and my eyes will trail your after you.
We’ll each fill a plate and take a seat on the couch I’ll stretch and yawn, reminded of the cup of coffee that woke me earlier in the kitchen. You’ll try those eggs as I make my way there and you will tell me,
“These are definitely over hard” and I’ll only respond with “It’s that bad? Not even over medium?” thinking I had saved myself with a lame joke. You’ll give me eyes that plainly state, “Are you kidding me?”
“I’m sorry. Next time, I’ll make sure to under cook them.” And you’ll toss back at me, “How do you know there’ll be a next time? You had your chance.”
and I’ll whine and you’ll stop me by saying “I’m joking!” and I’ll be so thankful to have shared my least favorite of meals with you and I’ll offer to make it up to you with dinner.
I know though this is only a daydream when I failed to sleep these nights without you.