Rain soaks his clothes, but he treads on nevertheless. Stopping in front of your grave, he crouches. Leaves lavender in front of your tombstone.

"They had your favorite in stock this time, darling." Soft, gentle, careful was his voice. As if any louder would wilt the flowers.

Absentmindedly, he looks up into the sky. He takes in a deep breath. Closing his eyes as he lets the rain land on his face.

"Happy birthday, my love."