Morning Reflections

In the early hours, the kitchen hums,

the splattered frying pan and laughter—

fogged windows with their stories of steam,

butter sizzles like whispers of warm dreams.

I flip through old recipes, golden and sweet,

memories blend with the smell of fresh wheat.

On a plate, a stack of pancakes rise—

glistening syrup, syrupy goodbyes.

Each forkful a promise, a way to begin,

a flavor of solace found deep within.

But as I sip my coffee, bitter yet bright,

a part of me aches, waking, takes flight.