The sight of his dying bride on his arms was too much for him.
The birds were still singing her name, and it broke what was left of his heart every time they
would sing her name.

He would spend his days dwelling in the past, remembering the way she looked at him for the
first time and the last time.

He would dream of her with eyes wide open, staring into a blank wall for hours, sitting in his
home alone slowly devoured by the silence.

He could only describe their separation as catastrophic, their connection comes around once in a
lifetime and they lost it that night.

He was never not missing her.
He said her name where nobody could hear it.
He called her name, wailed her name.
He brought himself a bouquet of roses and named each thorn after her, for every time he
remembers her name or a memory of her, he bleeds.

Their precious memories came flooding through his mind on random, it was on shuffle.
The memories of them laughing together made him reminisce the days they cried.
The memories where they cried made him think of the days they laughed.

He danced with her in the past.

Now his dancing alone with a ghost of his yesterday