Mourning.

Sometimes I feel like you’re here, like you never left, like I can still smell your cologne and taste the sun on unawakened lips. I feel your skin, warm and comforting as you pull the sheets in a groggy haze and you mumble incoherently. Feet dangling off the edge of the bed, floating in what seems like an eternity of space. I used to race the birds to wake you, chirps overshadowed by kisses you we’re mine. Your morning smile belonged to me and now she giggles when you snore and she lays wide eyed beside you awaiting the arrival of your overwhelming brown eyes. And I, so willingly let you go not realizing that you we’re my mornings.

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