pancakes

Some of my previous writing:


I made pancakes this morning, but they were nothing like yours. I guess now I have to say how yours used to be. You don’t make them now. It’s weird how the stores don’t carry the right batter anymore. It’s almost like they knew. I’m pretty sure you were the only one who bought that brand. Every time you went to the grocery store, you took all of them that were on the shelf. You found some substitutes for awhile but then…you just…stopped. I still expect them if I come home on the weekends but somehow I always find myself in an empty kitchen wanting to leave. I looked forward to those mornings every weekend but now I almost dread them. It wasn’t even about the pancakes. It was more about me and you being in the same room sort of hanging out. My pancakes today were flat. There weren’t any chocolate chips in them. They didn’t have that outer ring around the edge. They weren’t shimmering from all that butter and somehow my pancakes, were just pancakes. I cried as I sat there and tried to enjoy them with Dan. It was one of those cries where everything on your face sort of mixes together. Of course he asked me what was wrong and luckily I was able to make up some good excuses. Somehow everything reminds me. Today I hate breakfast.