monday morning
This morning was so different from every other morning we have spent together. This morning I woke up in my bed and you woke up on my couch. We showered, did the morning choreographed dance of getting ready for work. We are so much older now than when we used to share twin-extra-long beds together and put on sweatshirts before heading to class. Instead, this morning, you put on the shirt I ironed for you and the tie I helped you tie. This morning we looked like a professional couple, dressed in business formal, on our way to work. How did that happen when we are the least like a couple as we have ever been? This morning I mourned a piece of us that will never be the same.
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“I want to crawl back inside my bed of sin, I want to burn the sheets that smell like your skin. Instead I’ll wash them, just like kitchen rags with stains, spinning away any piece that remains of you.”
3 years ago • Notes