Memory

Posted: October 9, 2007 in Beauty, Dark, Death, Fiction, Imagery, Life, Love, Romance, Women

Steam wafting from the coffee maker, delicious smells of breakfast drifting in from the kitchen, the glint in your eyes as you smiled at me over a plate heaped with pancakes. There are so many ways to describe a perfect morning, but it all comes back to you.

You arch your back and stretch like a cat, dark hair falling to cover your face. I reach out and brush it back, revealing sleepy blue eyes free of make-up or worry. You yawn, bright teeth flashing in the ray of sunlight coming through the window.

We eat in a comfortable silence, shy looks sprinkled in between bites. You finish and pull your knees to your chest, resting your head on them and staring out the window.

I sip hot coffee and watch as the sun streaming through the window highlights your hair into a golden halo, short and tapered to either side of your head. Every stray hair, tousled by sleep, seems to be a small point of light radiating outward.

Then I realize.

This isn’t right.

Only now do I notice discrepancies. I can’t focus on any one part of your body. You’re not talking, just nodding and smiling like a bobble head doll.

And I know.

I know this isn’t real.

            Slowly, your smile slips from your face. Slowly, your body fades away.

The morning is still beautiful. The rich smell of coffee, a sweet syrupy taste still in my mouth, bright sunlight trickling in.

But now I remember the accident.

The car crash that took your life.

I sink back into my chair, full of sorrow.

Tears run down my face, remnants of a memory.

There are so many ways to describe a perfect morning, but it all comes back to you.

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