Excerpt: I stand in front of his grave, still unable to believe he is gone. I bring the tulips to my nose and inhale deeply, wanting to hold a piece of him in my darkest hours. And just like that, the memories come rushing back.
Notes: I wrote this for my local library's short story contest a couple years back, and somehow I actually managed to win, so that was cool. This is usually the story that makes people ask me what's wrong with me; I take it as a compliment that I've clearly made them feel strong emotions.
ns 15.158.61.6da2
