I want that kind of happiness again where I don’t know which is bigger, his smile or mine.
I want that kind of happiness that begins with his lips before dark coffee, tasting his toothpaste before mine, and eating breakfast in his XL T-shirt because I can.
I want that kind of happiness and more.
I want to split a pizza with him—pineapple on my side and pepperoni, if he likes, on his.
I want to order one ice cream and one spoon.
I want to be his “cuddles” again and him my “snuggles,” but that kind of happiness is gone.
I want things to be the way they used to be, but I torched it.
I didn’t realize how precious that kind of happiness was until it was gone.
It wasn’t mediocre.
It wasn’t just good.
I was treated like a princess up until the very last day.
Sure, maybe one day I’ll fall in love again, but I’ll never call anyone else snuggles.
He was my best friend, my partner in life, and the man I wanted to marry.
I wish I didn’t torch it, but I did.
While I wish more than anything to go back in time so my day can begin with his lips before dark coffee, I can’t.
What’s gone is gone, and now the soft spot on his cheek, where I used to rest mine, is only a faint memory.
We may never cross paths again, but I hope he knows that I still drink Dr. Pepper, that I still buy his green beans in a can, and that I still say each night, “I love you snuggles.”
Good night, snuggles.
I love you and always will.
May you fall in love again and again until you’ve found her.