mistpouffer
“She was ready to deny the existence of space and time rather than admit that love might not be eternal.”
Slicing endives is the most satisfying event when you are watching. With your attention, the most mundane tasks are tantalizing affairs. I wash my hands in an oval bowl. I rinse and dry each vegetable as if I'd drawn it from a womb. I peel potatoes. Dice carrots. Slick tomatoes and courgettes. While you sleep, I walk to a bakery for a fresh baguette. I hold the warm loaves against my chest and skip home as the sky lightens. Another day- another hour- I've whiled waiting on you. The tea calls for mint and sugar. I set a timer for the eggs. My nails become chipped at the tips from washing dishes, and the polish split. You take my hands and press them between yours. I like you better natural, baby. I refuse to remove the lacquer until each nail is half black, half neutral. You ask me to take it off, rub the last flakes with acetone. I shake my head. I like the contrast. I like to watch the markings as I pan our breakfast. I admire the symbolism as I fork the omelet; how I cracked to make room for you.
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