Ode To A Soft Scramble

*Gently heats pan*   You are...my fire.
*Swirls a generous dab of butter*   My one...desire.
*Tenderly folds bright yellow whisked eggs*  Believe, when I say.
*Lays just set scramble on toast, a shower of chives rain down in slo-mo*

I want it that way.

(Thanks Soft Scramble, for being the kind of food I'd want to sing 90's boy band songs to, loudly.)

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