Thinking of You

He came in from work, just like he does every day. He set his keys near the door, hung up his jacket, and stowed his briefcase in the cupboard with the shoes. Perhaps today will be the day, he wonders, glancing at the kitchen table.

Dust has collected on the beautiful oak surface, and the napkins in the holder are fading from sitting in the sun-soaked room. The little package on the surface is exactly where it was set four months ago. It looks almost the same. The bow is drooping, and the polka dots don't seem quite as cheerful as they once did.

He reached over and brushed the ribbon, fingers curling as he remembered touching her skin. It was her hands that wrapped the box and tied the bow. He can see them clearer than any other feature. He loved her hands.

They used to go on picnics, and he would spend hours studying her hands. They were so small when he held them in his own. He used to trace the blue veins with kisses until he reached her wrist, only to travel back up the long, thin fingers to brush the tips with butterfly kisses. They were soft hands, made that way by the lotion he watched her put on every morning. It made her smell like spring mornings and melting snow. Even now, when he almost thought he could forget her, he caught a whiff of sweet pea, and memories crashed down on him.

He picked up the gift, something he never before dared to do. It was too tempting to unwrap it and ruin the last work of art she left behind, but today had to be the day. He brought it over to the couch and sat, toying with the bow.

It was one of the things she loved doing. He used to enjoy coming home to see a little trinket or present sitting on the kitchen table. It was never something he needed or even knew he wanted, but the moment he opened it, he would realize that it was something he'd been missing his whole life and never knew it.

His toying turned to plucking, and soon the bow was off. He slid his fingernail under the tape and slid the wrapping off without ripping it. She would have hated that. She always believed that presents should be ripped open and the wrapping forgotten.

He turned the box over once before opening it and reading the piece of paper inside:

Drew,

I love you.

-Gwen.

AN- Just and excersize in description. I used the following prompt to get me started: A gift wrapped in polka dot paper in the center of the kitchen table. Hope you like!