I should have kissed her longer.

That was all he could think about as the sirens grew louder, seemingly mocking him now, reminding him of all the things he wouldn’t get to do with her.

He remembered how she looked this morning on her way out the door, how she was so rushed that she didn’t get to fix her hair, yet so flawlessly gorgeous running through the kitchen trying to find her coffee mug.

The untied shoe string that had been bothering him all morning no longer seemed an issue, nor did brushing that spinach in his teeth leftover from his breakfast.

The unbuttoned flannel polo that he was wearing, a favorite of hers, seemed heavy and uncomfortable.

He looked down at his cell. Still no reception. He glanced at the tv, still static, terrifyingly silent static. A chill ran down his spine as he stood there, stuck.

Stuck like a fly in a spiderweb, waiting for death.

His calloused hand ran through his scruffy hair and he closed his eyes as tight as he could.

I should have kissed her longer.

He thought of those big, naturally red lips. Sometimes they would get chapped and get that sexy crack down the middle.

The thought of kissing those lips again made him smile, a sweet smile, as the flash finally overcame him.

-D.R Breshears


*This is a piece included in my current big project, Love Loss and Other Little Lines. 

One Comment Add yours

  1. I should have. I’ve often thought of how I could have appreciated special moments when they’re gone.

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