The melancholic sky peeked through
The blinds of my windows
And my heavy eyes saw a bunch of z’s.
The bed kept pulling me in,
Knew my hesitation of getting up.
After dressing in my school attire,
I hesitantly walked to the kitchen
And saw the mosaic tiles showing
No sign of teal or sapphire,
Just coal and rust.
Something was cooking or baking.
The smell of pancakes caressed my nose,
Told me that I’m gonna eat well.
But, the silence told me
That I’m going to eat by myself.
I sat on a red chair,
While the gloom sat next to me.
The sun probably missed her alarm.
My mother’s words appeared in my mind,
“Good morning, son,”
my frozen heart barely thawed.
The pancakes were warm,
As I started eating them
With clover honey.
The golden elixir wasn’t sweet enough.
So, I poured more on my flapjacks.
I don’t consume amber maple syrup.
I would blow away the leaves
That hide forbidden memories
Of a girl I used to love; crooked hearts
Carved on my bark.
My black coffee was warm.
Tearing down the internal bitterness
With earthy bitterness.
An espresso machine was what I needed;
I needed a shot to remove my sorrow.
As I took my last bite,
It was time for me to go and study.
A sense of home walked alongside
Me, telling me, “You’re not alone,”
While the sleepy sun awoke
from its slumber.
