He was laying there with his left arm over his head and the right arm over his chest. A flattened palm covering his heart. Body language is everything, he thought, as he recognized where his hand was resting. Cuddling the broken organ inside his chest.
(more) He casually looked over at her pillow. He hadn't moved it since she left. How long now? A month? Two? He stared at her pillow, still dented where her head would rest.
The morning light made one, long, brown strand of hair shine on the white pillow case. He wanted to reach over and grab the pillow. Smash it into his face and breath in the smell that would soon evaporate. But he didn't.
He watched that thread of hair. He dare not move the pillow. How long did he expect to leave it untouched? He didn't know. Forever? Forever is a long time. Forever was a promise of hers. He remembered the night she promised him forever love.
Now all he had of her was a hair on a perfumed ridden pillow. He felt his heart flutter. He moved his hand in a circular motion on his chest, as if her were comforting a fussy baby. It's okay, he told his heart. We still have her hair. (less)