Only the memory of the joy she gave, but never of her face. His memories fade or shrivel up, her voice gone or out of touch, no mask can hide his pain. I will miss you longer than I knew you, god that’s insane, he whispered against her grave. How could he live another day?

Only the memory of her name, but never of her laughter. His joy sat resting in a far off places, a world he thought but couldn’t think. Six feet under lay flowers and ashes, all hope gone, nothing but chances. How could he live without her factors?

Only the memory of her favorite color, but never her smell. Her books of dust or dirt, her dreams gone or burnt, no therapy to mend his ways. She’s gone and gone forever, but it will be ok, he whispered against her grave. He lay right beside her flowers and ashes, and he bled his wrists with the knife he gave her. How could he have stayed?