Sunday Morning

He still feels her breath on his neck, on those Sunday mornings they got to sleep in together not having to 

worry about taking out the trash, answering the phone, waking to an alarm signaling another hectic work

day. God he cherishes those moments more than ever now. He regrets not telling her how much she meant 

to him more often, especially on those Sunday mornings.

He remembers the way her hands felt wrapped within his driving down 5th avenue. Her glance she'd hold 

with a smile that exuded a genuine radiance of happiness. He felt it, in his peripherals, it warmed his heart. 

Her presence sitting in the passenger seat, gave him comfort, she was with him and he felt amazing. 

The way her blonde hair danced in the little bit of air seeping through her slightly cracked window. The tapping 

she made with her thumb on the door handle as her song played on the radio. He wishes he had more time. 

More time to be able to take in all of those little moments just one last time, even for a second longer. 

They never saw it coming. That transport losing it's control, gaining more speed, instability, nearing 

the intersection they were about to cross. What if he had just taken those few extra minutes that

morning to see the curtains she had just ordered. Those curtains she was so obsessed with, and happy to

know they were going to be hanging in their living room. Why didn't he take more interest in the curtains.

Maybe she would still be here with him.

He feels lost. Everything feels cold. Nothing brings light, or makes his heart feel like it has a beat anymore.

He feels like he lost his world. He sees her all the time. In the kitchen doing dishes with her left foot slightly

pressed up against her right ankle. Doing laundry, as she snatches long sleeved shirts in frustration with

their sleeves inside out. Sitting at the table, writing out the grocery list for the week. But he knows those

are only memories now. Memories he'll always cherish. Torturous in a way, as he knows these images he

sees he can't touch, smell, ever hold or feel again, only when he dreams.

He sees her falling asleep. Constantly fixating herself in that one position she likes. Burying her head into

her pillow. She normally would rest her eyes now and sleep, but he doesn't see that. He sees her turn herself 

on her back, eyes wide open. She has a look on her face, soft yet depressing, he doesn't understand what he's seeing. 

She looks up, smiles sweetly before closing her eyes, and whispers, "I love you". 

He realizes what he's seeing is reality, a reality he's viewing from the ceiling, that he is no longer part of.

This is a reality, where he is the one who isn't with her anymore.

Reviews

[Srchaud]

At first I thought It was sad, it kind of is sad, but the fact he can come back and watch her is comforting.
-Going over all the things he used to do with her, thinking back to every details makes us stop and ask ourselves maybe we should do the same.

[Len Jeffrey]

Everything was excellent except for a spelling error.
'They never seen it coming'. It should be 'saw'.