It was May 10, 2015. He thought he could make it through the day without crying but as time progressed, it became more difficult to suppress the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes, so he opted for sitting in his bedroom with the lights off. He didn't want to sleep. That made the time seem to pass faster and he wanted to be awake. He needed to be awake in order to feel the remorse, along with the regret and sorrow, that came along with this day.

Laying in the dark, he thought, would at least prevent him from looking at her picture. If he did, he'd burst into tears, he just knew it. This way, he doesn't remember what her face looked like, but he remembers the sound of her laughter on those spring afternoons.

Its always been this way. Ever since the day she died, the image of her beautiful face would slowly fade, more so as each day passed.

He had always blamed himself for her death, despite what his friends told him. They'd always say, "stop blaming yourself! It wasn't your fault!" He'd just smile and brush them off with a cheesy "I know, I know! Its not my fault old potty face found an eight year-old threatening, haha," but deep down inside, he just couldn't make himself believe it. It was his fault, and there was nothing anyone could do to change that.

Unable to stand being alone in the dark with just his thoughts, he reached over to his bedside lamp and switched it on.

For the umpteenth time that day, he grabbed the charred picture and stared at it, or rather, stared at her face. The drop of water that had fallen onto the picture startled him. He realized he'd started crying.

"Oh mama," he whispered. "Im sorry it had to be this way." His voice was so broken, he sounded like the eight year-old he was when he lost her. He wiped the tear off the old photograph and with a final, regret-filled glance, he placed it next to his lamp on the bedside table. He reached up and switched off the lamp. His head peacefully rested against the semi-flat pillow, he allowed himself to cry, subconsciously tapping a message onto his bed.

-.- - ..- / - -.- .- -.- ..-..

you okay?

The last thing he tapped to his mother.

Leo didn't do mothers day very well.

So I know it's way passed mothers day, but inspiration hit me randomly, as does most inspiration for anything.

On another note, this is my first fanfic for this site, so please leave feedback!

Please don't leave any hate reviews. Or do. I don't really care.