Too often, I find myself reliving that fateful day.

Too often, I find myself wishing that things could be changed.
Too often, I wish the little things that went on that morning could be erased.
Too often, I wonder what else could have happened had things been said and done differently.
Too often, I wish I could have stopped time.

The questions are endless. They haunt me, day in and day out. They greet me in the morning, and they plague me as I seek sleep at the day's end.

If I had bought the damn milk the night before, instead of rushing home to be near you. If we had stopped at one cup of coffee that night, instead of staying up into the wee hours of the morning. If I had woken up before you in the morning, rather than craving the warmth of the bed. If you had chosen toast or pancakes for breakfast, in the place of cereal. If I had called you back into the room, to snuggle together for longer. If you had decided to drive your car to the shops, instead of insisting you wanted to walk and enjoy the sunshine. If the driver of the car had chosen to stay home and sleep it off.

I miss you.

Too often, I cry; why couldn't it have been me, and not you?

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