they say you’ll make the effort for the people you love — and who’s to say that a chocolate mango cake with edible golden flowers isn’t “people?” i’ll transfer twice and wait for the bus that never comes on time for the chance to sit in a wooden corner with just a bite of a pink pastry that’s soulmates to a smooth espresso. i’ll spend hours reading love letters from strangers about how this place has greeted their grey routines with hints of yellow, or how the down-to-earth baker slipped them an extra strawberry on their plate. particularly, an extra strawberry on an extra-extra hard day, of a hard week, of the hardest month they've lived out all year.                 

food changes us — but the more of “us” we bring to food, the more work we have to do.  it’s the “us” i’ve brought to my favorite spots because i loved us. i loved seeing your eyes squint and eyebrows furrow in a delighted kind of frustration at how much color this food has brought to our monotone mornings. and it’s (unfortunately) the same us that sits in the same window seats, this time asking the barista for a few more napkins because i keep craving what i have made forbidden to myself. this time, with the same food that no longer tastes like love.