THERE'S DEW ON THE grass, the ground has a softness that will be soon frozen, as hard as the stones it supports, when winter fully arrives. Saying goodbye to autumn, its brown leaves, and chilly breeze. Other mourners can be seen from afar, surely burying a loved one, under a cloudless sky, the air fragrant with pine-needles.
His knuckles have turned white because of how tightly his fingers are wrapped around the bouquet of white roses he decided to buy on their way to the cemetery. When he asked her which one out of all the flowers on the stand she preferred, she didn't know what exactly the occasion was. Just like she didn't know where they were going when he called, asking her to go somewhere with him, to do something he couldn't do alone. She's had to put the pieces together on her ow
