What is it that makes a person so goddamned miserable? 

Was it the pressure to be perfect?

Was it the fear of failure? Of disappointment?

Of never being good enough?

He sighed and rubbed his eyes

with the palms of his hands.

He glanced over to his right

at her still sleeping figure.

She was wrapped in white sheets,

her auburn hair splayed over her pillow.

The morning sun fell in slants

through the slitted blinds.

A few rays made their way into the room

and danced across her face and body.

God, she was beautiful.

Probably the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

He turned away from her

and fixed his stare at the opposing wall.

A few framed pictures were spaced along it.

In the centre was a picture

of the girl who lay beside him now.

They were at the pier at sunset

and he had caught her mid-laugh.

He snapped the picture right as she closed her eyes

and crinkled her nose in that adorable way he loved.

She had hit him playfully on the arm later,

“that is the absolute worst picture of me yet!” she had said.

“I disagree”, he had said.

In the end, she grew to love

that picture. It led her back to times more carefree…

He was broken out of his reverie

as she stirred beneath the sheets.

He cast a weary glance

toward her direction.

Her nose crinkled up

in that adorable way he loved.

She opened up her eyes.

And she smiled.

“Good morning,” she had said.

“Morning,” he had said.

They stayed in that bed

for only a moment longer.

He blinked…

and she was gone.

That was the thing he hated most about her,

he supposed.

Come dawn, she was gone.

Gone… Gone… Gone.

He wondered what it was that made a person so goddamned miserable.

“This love is only temporary,” she had said.

“I’d like it not to be,” he had said.