to the one who still lives in my kitchen
I made pancakes this morning and, without thinking, poured enough batter for two, because apparently my hands have not learned what my heart has been forced to learn; I still reach for the second plate, still leave the better piece at the edge of the pan because you always liked the ones that browned a little too much, and I still turn around when the kettle clicks off as if you are going to come wandering in, sleepy and smiling, asking why I am making so much noise this early.
I baked the cake you used to love yesterday, the one I always pretended was too sweet, and the whole kitchen smelled like butter and vanilla and the afternoons we wasted together, when you would sit on the counter and steal pieces of fruit while I complained that you were ruining the recipe. I kept looking toward the doorway while it was in the oven, waiting for you to appear and ask whether it was ready yet, and when I finally took it out, I cut two slices without thinking; yours stayed untouched until the frosting began to dry.
sometimes I think this is how I keep you alive, not through photographs or old letters, but through these ridiculous little habits that refuse to die with you. I still buy the cereal you liked, still make tea the way you taught me, still put on music while I cook because you hated how quiet the kitchen became without it, and sometimes I catch myself laughing at something you would have said before remembering that there is no one here to hear me laugh.
the worst part is that I don't even want to stop.
let the extra plate stay on the table. Let the second cup grow cold. Let me keep making too much food for someone who will never come through that door again, because for a few minutes, while the pancakes are warm and the kitchen smells like sugar and coffee, I can pretend you are only late.
and perhaps that is enough for tonight.
I will leave your slice on the counter, just in case, and when the house goes quiet, I will sit across from it and tell you about my day as though you are still listening, because loving you has become such an ordinary part of me that even your absence has learned how to live here.
for dear : @strrawdairy
