Sometimes she wakes up missing him so much it physically hurts.
Other times, she doesn't realize she's been thinking of him until she blurts out his name in random conversations.
Other times still, she doesn't realize she's missing him until their song comes on the radio or she sees the same model and make of his 1987 Pontiac Sunbird. It's those times that she wishes she didn't have a memory... that she didn't remember the feel of his stubble on her fingertips... or the noises he made while they made love.
But it's on the mornings she wakes up with thoughts of him on her mind---when it's almost as though she can breathe his scent and feel the heat of his body next to hers---that she's thankful that she's experienced a love so strong and pure it's ruined her for life. Because if it weren't for the passion his memory stirs in her breast, she doubts she'd be willing to get up every morning.
Because whether she likes it or not, she made a promise to him that terrible night. When it was just she and him in his hospital room. When her small hands felt trapped in his frigid ones and he looked at her with the same fierceness he had when he first told her he loved her. She had wanted to escape... forget... hide from the fear that constricted her breast, making it hard for her to breathe.
What was life without him?
Other times, she doesn't realize she's been thinking of him until she blurts out his name in random conversations.
Other times still, she doesn't realize she's missing him until their song comes on the radio or she sees the same model and make of his 1987 Pontiac Sunbird. It's those times that she wishes she didn't have a memory... that she didn't remember the feel of his stubble on her fingertips... or the noises he made while they made love.
But it's on the mornings she wakes up with thoughts of him on her mind---when it's almost as though she can breathe his scent and feel the heat of his body next to hers---that she's thankful that she's experienced a love so strong and pure it's ruined her for life. Because if it weren't for the passion his memory stirs in her breast, she doubts she'd be willing to get up every morning.
Because whether she likes it or not, she made a promise to him that terrible night. When it was just she and him in his hospital room. When her small hands felt trapped in his frigid ones and he looked at her with the same fierceness he had when he first told her he loved her. She had wanted to escape... forget... hide from the fear that constricted her breast, making it hard for her to breathe.
What was life without him?
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