3am Pancakes.

I woke to the smell of burning. The scent wafting through my hazy sleep riddled mind, pulling me from the land of dreams into the cold reality of the early morning.

I woke to the smell of burning. Escaping from the nest of sheets my hand reached for yours and found nothing but the cold side of an empty bed.

I woke to the smell of burning. The hallway light stung my eyes, stumbling and blind I lurched towards the lingering smoke.

I woke to the smell of burning. And there within the kitchen with an apron and a smile, you held up those blackened pancakes like they were the finest thing you had ever created.

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