The moon shone in the sky like a sliver eye. Staring tauntingly at the soul under it. The night sky flowed and the stars winked at him, wishing him luck— yet uncertainty flashed underneath their white flames of reassurance.

Soon, the rain pushed in by sad, gray, clouds. Ruining the sky with a guilty-pleasure. The scenery wet, but Azure held onto hope. The droplets wetting his hand-made hat. Flopping onto his head. The bouquet of night shades that he picked were smothered with the rain, making the flowers droop and sway under the breeze.

Too long of time passed, the night sky trying to escape the darkness of clouds. Azure looked around, you not in sight. He smiled weakly, the rain making his eyes wet. Droplets trickled down his face— he didn’t know if he was crying or the rain soaked his eyes. But his aching chest, bent eyebrows, and trembling breath indicated the harsh truth.

He tugged his hat down curtly, hiding his eyes. His face now a faint shade of a sorrowful, garnet. His eyes watered with tears and the stars dulled. Looking away from his despair. Though, he was crying, he would always say it was the rain. He made a feeble attempt to wear his cheery-everything-is-fine-don’t-worry-about-me-smile on again, but his lips forced a cry out.

Oh god he felt like a fool. . . Waiting for you. He clutched the flowers he held for you. He wanted to crumble and fall. Like snow on a roof, waiting to crash onto the ground. The grass around the oak tree that he was under swayed with remorse and sympathy of his loss, his heart sank. Shattering into all the memories of you and him. Before he said his feelings. Before he even thought about you. Before. . .

Everything.

His brown coat swished in the cold breeze, increasing his trembling at a sadistic rate. His breaths shaky and useless. He felt like he was drowning in nightshades. Though he adored those flowers, the ones he spent all afternoon picking the brightest and untouched ones in this very garden, holding them in his hands felt wrong. Hugging the cloth around the Bouquet, wishing it was you. But. . . You weren’t here.

Did you forget about the date?

Or worse. . .

Did you forget about him?