Sacrificial pancake, noun. the very first pancake to be cooked that usually turns out to be the worst one.
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I liked watching the traffic from a skyscraper where you don't hear the noise,
and staring at clouds on the horizon more than the sun at dusk.
I loved the scent of new books, sweet yet musky perfume, and bacon+scrambled eggs in the morning.
I liked listening to the soundtrack of my life where every song reminds me of the beach
or stirs up a bittersweet memory from a love long gone.
I loved blowing bubbles, kisses in bed, the warmth of a hand on my face,
and laughing my heart out over good food and better company.
Now I hate the traffic and the noise that comes with it,
and despise the heat of the sun, especially at midday.
I have no time for books, breakfast, or even enough time to dress up and look beautiful.
It hurts to remember the loves gone past, and it saddens me that even if given the chance,
I would rather stay home to catch up on chores than go to the beach.
Blowing bubbles is a chore, and so is the mess that comes after it.
I'm too tired for kisses in bed, and cringe at the idea of touch.
I can't remember when I laughed hard last. Like, truly, really, genuinely laughed with sides aching.
I know you're out there somewhere, Nancy. I miss you.
I catch glimpses of you sometimes.
But with each day that passes, I feel like I am losing you just a little bit more than the last.
I am scared that one day I might forget you,
and leave myself with nothing to hold onto.
