whether near or far, i am always yours

He stood in front of the gravestone, a cheap bouquet of flowers in his hand. The plastic wrapped around the stems crinkled as he gripped it tighter and seemed too loud. It was bright and sunny now. It didn't seem right, compared to the night she died. He felt his throat tighten up painfully.

The gravestone was polished black. When his eyes burned and his vision blurred and chest started to heave, he didn't try to fight it. He crouched down and put his forehead against the stone. The flowers dropped to the ground as he held on to the warm stone for dear life. It wasn't supposed to be like this, not now, not ever. It didn't matter how many times he went over that night, how many times he envisioned her death and what he could have to stop it. Those visions, those nightmares, could never change what had happened.

He didn't know how long he held the gravestone when he felt a soft touch on his shoulder. He ignored it at first, thinking it was just his friend telling him it was time to go. The touch was a little more firm before disappearing, and he felt a gentle caress against his cheek. His eyes snapped open, and he stumbled back from the headstone. He put his hand to his face. He knew that touch. It wasn't possible. It couldn't be...

"You did your best," he heard, almost too quiet to understand. It could have been the sound of the wind on the leaves, or the plastic crinkle of the flowers trying to roll away, but he knew what it was. There was too much love in the words for it to be anything else. Doing his best to center himself and calm down, he picked up the flowers and put them in front of the headstone. When he glanced behind him, he could see his friend waiting patiently on a bench, but watching carefully.

Standing up, he put his face to the sun and closed his eyes. The breeze touched his hands, his scarred arms, his dry lips, and he knew she was there. At least for the moment. He stayed there for as long as he could, until the tears dried salty tracks on his cheeks and the light made his face feel hot and burnt.

It was then that he knew he wouldn't feel her presence again. She was gone, gone for good. No amount of longing on his part would bring her back again. The realization brought another sharp stab of pain to his chest. But it wasn't as bad as before. She was gone, but he still had memories. Good, bad. Serious, funny. Hateful, loving. It wouldn't be the same, he knew this, but as long as he had those memories, she would still be with him.

He touched the gravestone again, brushing his fingers across the engraved letters of her name. With a sigh that cracked his breath, he turned and walked away.