it never got easier, coming here. clouds of varying shades of grey painted the sky, rain pouring down and casting a bitterly ironic setting over the scene.

"hey, sweetheart..." james sighs, his boots squelching against the soggy dirt and mud. every birthday, every anniversary, every holiday— james would come visit your grave. he kneels down before the tombstone, a sorrowful look in his gaze.

his eyes trail down to the last set of flowers he left; now brown and worn and wilted. "c'mon, you used to always brag about that green thumb of yours." he huffed out a breathless, sad laugh whilst his hands made quick work of placing a new bouquet down and grabbing the old one, to dispose of it.

his hair and shoulders were soaked, but he didn't care. he could sit here and talk to you for hours, days even. at one point after your death he had slept alongside your grave; telling himself it was more for you, than it was for him.

he couldn't grasp his head around your death. you, his spouse— a beautiful, young soul who had been taken away from this earth too soon, thanks to an unknown illness. he had been angry for a long time. sad. guilty. but now, he was just confused. perhaps that would never change.