Endless morning kisses.
I'm not sure how they started, really. All I remember is waking up to a comforting warmth, the blankets pulled tight around me, my pillow soft, cradling my sleepy head. Your breath on my cheek, hand on my jaw, a bittersweet brushing of lips. You were leaving.
"I'll see you later."
Another quick kiss, a departure.
The routine only wavered after an argument. The arguments. Bitter feelings took over the sweet and you would leave without saying a word. I would wake - confused, disorientated, where are you - to an empty bed, an empty house, an empty chest. Hollow in remembrance.
You were so cold. Yet so was I, without your presence.
You made me feel pathetic in those instances. I could be so easily wounded, and yet always forgiving. Even when it was you in the wrong, when I was so angry - even then I would stand at your bedside. I would watch you, so calm in sleep, and instead of the predicted thoughts of suffocation, of causing you pain - I will teach you - I felt nothing but hollow.
But still. I would bend down, nuzzle myself against your sleep-warmed cheek. Your scent, like lazy Sunday mornings in bed; winter chills; comforting pain. I would place a gentle kiss - please don't wake up - upon your lips, before I left.
Not this time.
I am stood at the bedroom door. I am leaving you, my comforting pain. Aching. My hand trembles upon the door-handle and I am more than reluctant. A look back over a shoulder. What I see merely causes me to ache. You sleep soundly, unaware, and I wish for nothing more than to climb back into your cocoon. Protect me, so that only you may hurt me.
I am not close enough to smell you, but my mind provides me with your scent regardless. I will store it and keep it with me, a mental aftershave, a personal torture. I close my eyes against the tears, silently pull at the handle.
Good-bye, my darling; my dreams; my life; my love.
My endless morning kisses.