Waffles Waffles Waffles

"I feel I can give you everything without giving myself away," I whispered in her ear as she slept. 

"Waffles, not pancakes. Waffles hold more syrup, and strawberries" she mumbles back to me.

I wonder if she hears the words that I whisper to her each morning, or just knows someone is speaking to her. Waffles, isn't the response that I expect to hear from her, but it's a response. Does she whisper things to me when I sleep? How would I respond. We've only been living together for three months, but I know I want to spend the rest of my life with her.

I trim the waffles until they're in the shape of hearts. I use the other pieces to encircle the waffles. Presentation isn't important to her. She eats without looking; but if I didn't do it, I'd feel like she'd notice and question it. Then again, looking at the food I prepared has always been my second favorite part. Even if it didn't always taste good, it looked good. Watching people eat was the best part. Watching her eat, is better than watching anyone else eat my food. Maybe it's because she'll eat anything, maybe it's because she always thanks me before and after.

"You made waffles, and you even got the strawberries on the side instead of on top. They make the waffle soggy when they're on top. Thank you for the meal."

We never speak when we're eating. She just eats way too fast, and I try to savor every bite. When we're finished she takes the dishes, her part in this all. I hate washing dishes, but she doesn't mind since I do all the cooking. She's a terrible cook by her own admission, and I won't argue. But, I'm not the best at keeping things clean so we balance out. 

"Thanks again for the waffles, it's like you always know what I want."

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