Gone

It is always in the morning where I miss you the most.

It was the soft breaths – slow and steady – that I woke up to. (You were my anchor)

Sometimes, your arms would be thrown around my body, a lovely weight reminding me that I was not alone.

Other times, your hands were intertwined with mine. (Our fingers slotted together perfectly, like puzzle pieces that finally found its pair.)

I would stare at you until you woke up, looking at the soft slope of your nose and the pleasant curve of your mouth. The freckles that dotted your soft cheeks, and the fluttering of your eyelashes against your pale skin. Your dark hair would be fanned out against the pillows, stark raven against white.

When you would wake up, you would do so slowly, your eyes fluttering open and close, open and close, a small yawn escaping your lips.

And I would trace your face, laughing at your sleepy giggles, at the way you half-heartedly attempted to bat my hands away.

We would get up together, slowly, our hands tracing each other’s body languidly.

(We had all the time in the world.)

Or so we thought.

Because, that morning, you went out to buy donuts.

And you never came back.

drunk driver blood crashed car wreckage your body broken broken sobs i miss you come back please i love you i love you i love you please please please don’t die come back come back come back… I’m sorry … no no no no no … you need to let go of her body … no no no no no … she is dead nonononono my love

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