Letters from the Lunchbox

I usually come to the grocery with a list of things to buy. At the end of the day however, your heart was one of the random goodies I carried home.


I think I fell in love with you at the grocery. I can’t actually determine when and where it was exactly, but it must be at the dairy when we battled over what to get – milk or yoghurt, but decided to get both instead. Or was it at the deli, we feasted over ham and sausages and bacon. Or maybe at the baking goods section where we got both pancake and brownie mixes because we’re the awesome twosome in baking. Was it perhaps in the cellar? When we acted drunk in front of a hundred bottled spirits. Perhaps it was in the fresh produce, when you tossed eggplants and zucchinis to our cart, thinking I’d learn to eat them.

Or maybe, there ‘s really no way of knowing because I was too happy riding the cart, both hands clasping the cold metal front like a koala bear hugging the trunk of a gum tree. You were a captain in control of a cruise ship.You pushed the cart with my weight added, maneuvering from one side to the other. People looked and stared at us, while they took sidesteps to let us pass. The corridors, the aisles, the gondolas – they were ports, stopovers of goodies.

Or I guess it’s because you made me feel grocery shopping is no chore at all. You actually made me want to live there. But I can’t, so I took our bags, and the memory, and you of course, back home with me – with the thought of falling further in love with you in the kitchen.


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