The Cliche of Kitchens
I remember sitting on your kitchen floor for hours. There I just wrote my stories, read my books, and had conversations with you absent. Something told me this wasn't right. I went to bed. I was cold, and left my mess on the kitchen floor. You woke me up and tossed me from the bed. There can't be a mess in the kitchen; you may offend the kitchen knomes and they will never cook again. We wouldn't starve. I swear.