The low growl of thunder was heard in the distance, the gray sky already torn with rain. His eyes were wide open, conflicted, as he continued to stare at the sight before him. His mind dangerously balanced between acceptance and disbelief, though more towards the latter. A bundle of chrysanthemums laid on the freshly dug patch of dirt, forced to endure the merciless fall of heavy rain.

Tears fell from the oceans of his eyes; tears he didn't know had been there. A cold, desolate feeling had settled on his chest, caught in a silent battle between imminent grief and bleak numbness. It was only then, standing at her grave, that he realized.

Despite all that he said, he had never truly understood what love really was.

And when he finally understood, it was only now that he realized how painful it was.


For those that may not be aware, chrysanthemums are a symbol of death in many European countries (including France), where they are only used for funerals or graves.