cooking

The other day, I was doing what minimal cooking I do. And this was one of the things that somehow hit the hardest. It reminded me of the life I had imagined for my love and myself. Yes, I do have a desire for a nicer cooking space and the time and energy to cook healthy meals every night. But all of that in my mind was so entwined with the image of my future with someone else.

We were going to get a lovely place together with a nice kitchen. So in this fantasy, we would cook meals together. My vision of the future has me very much as a working woman and I am as far from domesticated as they come. However, one of these fantasies is me cooking dinner for the boy I love and he could come home to it or he could watch me make it and try to interrupt me by giving me a hug and poking me, as you do.

I suppose the simple art of cooking represents something bigger for me. It reflects the bliss of having your own space to share with your favorite person. It reflects a place I would truly call home. Living with him was something I truly looked forward to and longed for. Every time I lay alone in my bed at night or we went another week without seeing, I imagined, what would it be like to come home every day to your love? What would it be like to have lives so entwined that feeding and taking care of them is like a form of lovemaking?