What is it that makes a person so goddamned miserable?
Was it the pressure to be perfect?
Was it the fear of failure? Of disappointment?
Of never being good enough?
He sighed and rubbed his eyes
with the palms of his hands.
He glanced over to his right
at her still sleeping figure.
She was wrapped in white sheets,
her auburn hair splayed over her pillow.
The morning sun fell in slants
through the slitted blinds.
A few rays made their way into the room
and danced across her face and body.
God, she was beautiful.
Probably the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
He turned away from her
and fixed his stare at the opposing wall.
A few framed pictures were spaced along it.
In the centre was a picture
of the girl who lay beside him now.
They were at the pier at sunset
and he had caught her mid-laugh.
He snapped the picture right as she closed her eyes
and crinkled her nose in that adorable way he loved.
She had hit him playfully on the arm later,
“that is the absolute worst picture of me yet!” she had said.
“I disagree”, he had said.
In the end, she grew to love
that picture. It led her back to times more carefree…
He was broken out of his reverie
as she stirred beneath the sheets.
He cast a weary glance
toward her direction.
Her nose crinkled up
in that adorable way he loved.
She opened up her eyes.
And she smiled.
“Good morning,” she had said.
“Morning,” he had said.
They stayed in that bed
for only a moment longer.
and she was gone.
That was the thing he hated most about her,
Come dawn, she was gone.
Gone… Gone… Gone.
He wondered what it was that made a person so goddamned miserable.
“This love is only temporary,” she had said.
“I’d like it not to be,” he had said.