Imperfect

T W E N T Y - L A W R E N C E M U L L I N S

She looked at me as my eyes reopened.

"How long did I sleep?" I asked her, wiping the crust from both of my eyes.

"Since last night," she responded, twirling her fingers, "you've been sleep since your heart stopped beating last night."

"My heart stopped?" I questioned her.

"Yeah..."

"It restarted, because I couldn't stop loving you..." I started to flirt with her.

She didn't laugh, she didn't smile, and she didn't even look at me. Her attention turned towards the window.

"Am I not funny anymore?" I asked her a honest and serious question.

"I just want my husband back," she cried, still looking at the window, "I just want MY Lawrence back."

"I wish I could give him to you," I told her, wanting her to look at me, "but I don't know how to; I just don't know how to."

"I wish you did," she responded, still looking out the window, "because, not being disrespectful, but you're not him—you're not Lawrence. And, I don't think I could stay here any longer with you."

She got up from her seat, walking towards the door.

I felt saddened a little, although I didn't have any emotion for this woman, because the only thing that I knew about her was her name and that we were married.

"Are you leaving me?" I asked her, worriedly.

"I just need some time to myself," she told me, "I just need some fresh air for a few minutes... I'll be back."