Pancakes

It was never about pancakes, sitting so perfectly on a plate in a cafe 

With sweet maple syrup running down the edges. 

It was always about how your eyes looked over a cup of steaming black coffee, 

And the first rays of sun peeking through the window, making your hair glow as if it was phosphate in the dark. 

It was always about how you smiled at me trying to tell a joke while rubbing my sleepy eyes and accidentally kicking you under the table. 

It was about the love that was so simple that day, as we stumbled out of that little booth and back out to the parking lot, not wanting to say goodbye. 

It was never about anything but a bond between two people, so pure yet so strong. 

But we hugged and drove away, thinking it was all about pancakes.