As the first rays of light peep over the dingy houses, I realize I won't sleep. I sigh and mentally kick myself. Work in three hours. I don't want to go. I might call in sick. Again. There is an empty space next to me. My heart sinks lower, surprising me that it even can. Surprising me that there are any feelings left, any slight ray of hope. I remember that morning now. He is gone. The morning he left. The hopeful rays try to warm my frosty heart. They say that I have become cold. I don't care. Maybe that is what they mean. The frost outside glitters in this, the first light. The sky far above is still dark. Funny how the sunrise is truly, strangely, beautiful. Funny how the appearance of having the sky set on fire is supposed to be one of the most beautiful things in the world. That fateful night, that he left. The happiness that was, how it shattered! That morning, when I awoke, and rolled over to kiss him. The morning I had wondered why he wasn't up before me, like he normally was. The morning I kissed him, and his lips, his skin, was deathly cold.



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