He can’t help himself. He’s still hung up on you, and always will be. He goes to visit your grave after work, with freshly picked flowers from the garden. He gets to the top of the hill, where your grave lies. In a field of flowers, a lone grave, he swore would have his next to yours one day. One day... As he sat next to your grave, lamenting about his days with you, a small voice, a whisper in the wind, your voice. Your voice, so familiar. So soothing. He takes a deep breath, in order to not break down crying. His heart aches as he thinks about you.