In the course of a year I manage to travel a lot. And really now, I'm already lying because the planes I take never leave the country, the destinations don't look too different from where I started, and if I were to add the facebook travel application I would just have a jumbled mass of lines tracing between Ontario, Quebec, and B.C.
Not exactly a soul-searching trip to Bolivia, but I digress.
The fact that my boyfriend and I manage to coordinate any time in the same city seems like a miracle, but a miracle that I appreciate and relish. A few days ago he had to leave for yet another city, and he asked me what I wanted to do on our last night together.
I thought for a while, deciding finally on Brinner. My parents used to make brinner, or breakfast for dinner, and I always thought it was such a treat. In actuality it was probably on the nights they were most tired and fed up with us, but I was oblivious to any exhaustion once the bacon hit the table.
I want Brinner, babe. And Brinner he made.
Cutting no corners he whipped up a feast of apple pancakes, berry compote, fried eggs, and english muffins. There was even cheesecake at the end which I accepted in spite of the fact that it is a non-breakfast food.
These kinds of nights can be bittersweet, both enjoyable and somehow depressing for obvious reasons. And yet after so many geographical relocations, goodbyes, and reunions, I've come to savour the arrivals and stop lamenting those damn departures.
