Her life was blissful because he added a sparkle to it, ever so subtly, ever so lovingly in a forever-and-ever blissful kind of way.
She smiled, rolled herself on the satin sheets. The sun had slept late after a night cap with the grey faced moon with its crescent shaped smile, and now the dew still hang on the leaves, eyes to the East, wondering- did the sun die from heart break?
Heartbreak? That was nonexistent in her world of elation.
She turned, moving her hand along the smooth satin.
He was supposed to be there.
But he wasn’t.
Only a lackluster, lackadaisical lump of air napped where his body, the smell of Cherries, was supposed to be.
Her heart died, yet again; and she would wake every hour after that to suffer death- over and over again until dying became a boring axiom.