And so here we are toiling over things not alive. Like a corpse in its casket, we live on their memory.

Something about you had instilled sunshine in a place once empty.

Or maybe, I had stolen your sun.

And that's why it died. We let the flowers bloom, thinking all is good and well since they're flourishing.

As time began to freeze, so did you.

I asked if it was ever anything; the laughter, the autumn leaves in your eyes, the moments that spun around back to back in our dying garden.

I remember... You said it was everything.

So we left the flowers to die behind the garden shed with no more words said.