i decided to go on a health binge and keep my kitchen stocked with quinoa and almonds. i strangely remember this is how you used to smell, like almonds and cigarette smoke and everything bitter, but just a little bit satisfying.
i saw the way she called you shae like your mother does. how you showed her how to make perfect grilled chicken on flatbread like we used to do the springtime, with sun and smiles seeping through skin and windowpanes. to my surprise, i felt nothing but contentment knowing i have someone who will make even better grilled chicken on flatbread, except it never makes it to the oven because he’s too busy kissing my neck on the kitchen floor.
