I didn't live for the first week she was gone.
I wasn't dead either.
My body was living, sluggishly breathing and staring at the television screen that played the Night Before Christmas over and over.
The Night Before Christmas was her favorite movie.
I watched it with her, every single time in those 86 times.
Her goal was 100.
She'll never watch it again.
I remember coming home and laying down on the red couch.
And I layed there.
And layed there.
I layed there for a week.
I think there were some Cheez-Its and water nearby.
It was my body putting it in my mouth to keep me alive.
My mind wasn't there.
It was far, far away.
People say that the first week is the worst.
It's not.
Everything is so wrapped up in a surreal fog that you think that it's just a nightmare, I'll wake up soon. Just a nightmare. Please let me wake up.
Except you never do.
The nightmare is real, and you can never wake up.
YOU ARE READING
Cherry Blossoms
Short StoryA series of sad tales about a lover that was left alone too soon.
