When home means finally-untangled hair, the sound of waves that won’t quit our minds – oh and of the shower he’s into two-open-doors away while this song is playing on repeat, only rain hitting the skylight is missing for the orchestra.
Too large a cotton t-shirt. And a pair of knickers. With matching wool socks. Of course.
Oh yes, when home means all of that, it seems to me the situation kind of calls for breakfast for dinner. Preferably involving bacon, and perhaps an egg or two. Or even better, an egg with two yolks.
Like a happy surprise that, all of a sudden, makes up for the so-very recent past.
Toast the muffins until just golden brown.
Pile the bacon and eggs on the muffins. Squeeze a little brown sauce or ketchup on top. And close. Eat, possibly sat on the floor or wrapped in a wool blanket. Go to bed, hoping for rain – or more.