It’s Monday morning. The alarm starts ringing in my ears and I groan, with my eyes still closed. I wait for you to lazily hit the snooze button as I attempt to squeeze in a few more minutes of sleep. I finally open my eyes, ready to reach over you to stop the alarm’s incessant chirping.

But you’re not there.

Despite the many days of your absence, every morning I wake up surprised—in denial that you’re not with me anymore. I trace the faint impression in the bed of where you slept with my fingers, and allow the memories of what we were consume me again.

The way we would race up the apartment complex stairs after our Sunday strolls; how you always let me win. How we would always end up having popcorn fights instead on our Friday movie nights. The way you tickled me to make my anger disappear; how easily it was done. The happiness I felt when I told you that I loved you. The butterflies that fluttered inside me when you said you loved me. The warmth of your embrace, how I seemed to melt under your strong arms—as if nothing else could touch me. The burning passion I felt when our lips touched. God, I would do anything to kiss you one more time, to feel your soft sweet lips gently pressed against mine. I would do anything to feel that tingle in my spine, the warmth that filled my cheeks, and the quick beating of my heart.

Every day I wait for a phone call, or an email, or just anything, really. All I want is some sort of contact. I glance at the empty inbox of my cell phone, wondering why you aren’t sending me a text saying that you miss what we had. I stare at the door, waiting for you to storm inside to this apartment that once belonged to the both of us. Waiting for you to say that you made the wrong choice. Waiting for you to embrace me with your strong arms and tell me that you’re sorry.

Every day I wait for you.

It’s Monday morning, and the alarm is still ringing. The wind feels cold as it hits my bare back—I curl into a ball and push my head under the pillow, trying to block out the noise.
I just want to sleep.