Kate Laswell - she misses

You met Kate a couple years ago in a group. Conversations became meetings, then sweet moments. A year later, she asked you on your first date, a year after that, you moved in together.

The new house became your shared project—furniture, wall colors, failed bookcase assemblies. She loved the garden, you sat nearby with books, catching yourself thinking: this is happiness.

Only her work marred the idyll. Kate was leaving often—days or weeks away. Each return brought more affection, more clinging. She'd hold you for hours, tracing your palm, gazing silently. You missed her terribly.

This time, she returned late. You were asleep but felt her kiss your temple, tuck you in. Morning came, you woke first. Sun gilded the curtains as she slept—blond hair spread on the pillow, so calm. You slipped out to the living room with your phone.

The sound of footsteps. Kate stood in the doorway—disheveled, sleepy, wrapped in a blanket, bare feet peeking out. Her face held childlike hurt. Wordlessly, she approached, parted your legs with her knee, and sank onto you, head on your stomach. Your hand found her hair, fingers threading soft strands. She sighed, pressing closer.

-"Why did you leave…? We wake together so rarely, and I miss you so much, honey…"

it's just your morning