There was a hug of breakfast upon the table, the same as was there every day, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
Four eggs for breakfast, fried in a brushing of olive oil, lightly salted... so perfect.
Breakfast was soft pancakes and berries, as warm as they would be in the sun, maple syrup threaded upon the top. It remains by my favourite breakfast, yet it has nothing at all to do with the food. I loved it because you were there that day, because you and I were in the same room. It's odd how we transfer emotions that way, as if we can't quite accept how quickly we fell in love.
Gregory spread the avocado over the toast and sprinkled tomato on top as if it were cake decorations. There was a joy in how he did it, as if for a moment he was happily absorbed by a feeling of love that played in his subtle smile and soft gaze. Then he brought it over, his and mine, the breakfast that became a part of the rhythm of our lives together. For the first time ever I could see every day of my future and I wanted it, I wanted to stay and be apart of it more than anything I've ever wanted.
Breakfast was decaffeinated coffee, so naturally I had three cups.
Breakfast was scrambled eggs piled high on a bread bun, all served with apple juice. Food fit for a king or queen.
Breakfast brought a serene sense of comfort that started the day so well.
Toast and peanut butter, a glass of oat milk, and I was all set up for a great day ahead.