Monica has the shape of your feet memorized. Considering the array of extraordinary between the pair of you, her unbelievable past and your unfathomable future – it is difficult to comprehend the way she absorbs such detail.
What you still fail to realize: while Monica notices small corners of any scenario, she doesn’t ordinarily recall eye color or tress shades.
She often writes about the azure tone you look to ask her with; your sandy, un-blonde locks. The color of north-western coast.
Monica said, “I do” two years after the hospital and three weeks before her husband’s birthday. It was eighteen months before she understood you.
In a small cape home tucked near Roxbury, Connecticut she spends a lot of time in the kitchen. She cooks intricate dinners scenting the house with cumin and clove. Hand rolled bread and fresh squeezed juice.
Zac drinks Red Bull and eats Doritos. The transition to vegan for Monica was simple. Natural. But she still cooks him steaks. The sort you wish you were able to eat.
The two of them share things you longed and long for. He knows her favorite colors and flowers. Basic things. The songs she likes the best. How to make her laugh.
The two of you met in an entirely different fashion. Laughter aside. Although as you are more than aware…
Monica is in perpetual seek of the lighter side. She’s convinced it’s on your shoulders.