Today

Ten years ago, he fastened a strand of pearls around my neck and ran his thumb along the line of my jaw as he promised me forever.

Last year, he told me I was the center of his world, that he couldn’t imagine life without the feel of my skin beneath his hand as he slept.

Last month, he woke me with the scent of fresh coffee and rose petals before he slid back between the quilts, making me want more and more and more.

Last week, he took me to the ocean and slipped the fabric from my shoulders, drawing me ever closer as we moved to the rhythm of the waves.

Last night, he wrapped me in his arms while he asked me to promise that I would never leave, never make him live a day he didn’t share with me.

Today, he packed his bags and said goodbye.

(Fiction for Six Sentences)