Sunday Morning

Nuzzled with my school books instead of my love.
His nightly remedies still sit on the bedside table.
His cologne still lingers.
His laughter echoes.
Only one day removed.
I ache.
The vase on the windowsill still nurtures and nature’s fruit is still green.
My child still laughs.
Coffee warm, pillows plump, sheets soft.
The cool autumn air glides over my skin, feeds my senses, nourishes my soul.
I weep. I yearn. I want. I break.
Yet I am beholden to all things good.
The purest of these is love.
And I am whole.
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