John carried death on his shoulders. For years, it surrounded him like a pack of hyenas waiting for his knees to buckle.

Yet, he dreamt of you. Sometimes you’d wear a bright smile, that filled his chest with warmth and other times you’d be bloodied, clutching your throat as you passed in his arms.

“You were everything,” John whispered, kneeling before your grave as he delicately set a bouquet of sunflowers down upon the fresh soil.

“You must’ve been so scared, love.”