Picking Daisies on Sundays (Picking Daisies on Sundays, #1)

by Liana Cincotti

how did I ever let time pass this long without seeing you?

Neck stiff, legs weak, eyes set on what we could’ve looked like if you hadn’t left

I wanted to wake up to that voice and listen to it while I sewed and draped fabric. I wanted him to whisper to me in French

Because that’s what everyone wants you to do after you lose someone: move on. But how were you supposed to just move on? How were you supposed to simply pretend like they never existed and try to be happy when they were no longer here?

“Umm, just my Kindle, an apple, a few scrunchies, my water, a sandwich, a sewing kit—” ​“A sewing kit?” ​“—and a second pair of earrings in case I lose mine.”

She is just like me fr

Midnights and daydreaming hours of retracing steps to how we possibly got here

To be close to you was to be haunted by what I couldn’t have and to be reminded of how much I truly wanted you

I feel lucky to have had you, but dismayed to know what life is like without you

I’ll buy you flowers every day for the rest of my life if it makes you this happy.”

​“I love you more than my heart can physically handle.”

Why can I still hear your voice when you’re not here?