The grass is fresh, wet-bristled neath my bare soles. The soil is uniform, not sticking despite the moisture. I drink from my glass and I can feel the cold liquid trickling down my throat reaching the emptiness that is my stomach. The hair cling to the back of my neck, damp with sweat and the wind blows at it, cooling it down.

You would've loved this place.

I cross my legs underneath me and the dress pools in my lap reminding me of all the love I'm left with that could've been yours. There's something about sitting on Earth's most beautiful places and feeling absolutely wretched. The fog of envy hanging over you as you breathe it in and it joins your existing grief. The sun above glaring before sighs and the clouds come to surround it, mellowing the weather.

You would've loved this place. What am I doing here? Perhaps, looking for you in everything that's left, everything that still breathes, everything I'm still allowed to touch and breathe in.

You would've loved this place.
You would've loved-
You would've-
You-
.