There’s not much sound in cemetery, only the gentle breeze making the blossoms on the trees chatter lowly and ruffling his hair as he kneels at your grave, your name etched into the slightly tarnished stone, moss and the occasional vine snaked around it in a protective embrace.

The only other sound is your soft sniffles and cries, cradling a bouquet of white roses. You just stare into the headstone with both dried and fresh tears glistening on his freckled cheeks, making them almost glow in the seemingly never-ending sunset.

But then you shake your head, smiling just for him as you bring out a small cake, the candle lit and you hover your hand around it so it doesn’t go out. And although you don’t know it, he smiles back at you, proud of how you’re holding together better, you can't see him though nor hear him- he’s a ghost.

“Happy anniversary, dove.”