He crouched in front of the garden patch he had been maintaining for a few years. The mornings were mostly spent watering them, making sure they were getting enough nutrients to grow such beautiful flowers. Utmost care was important, but the sight of their elaborate petals and soothing hues nipped at something at the back of his mind.

More and more events of his life slipped by his memory, but if there was one thing to remind him that he was still in control, it was this flower patch. So, he set the watering can down and crouched in front of the blooming buds.

The flowers were silent, but every time he looked at them, he swore he could almost hear someone laughing in the distance. It was the most melodious laugh, and perhaps, it brought about the sweetest smiles too. He would never know. All that mattered was that the flowers told him of a time when warmth wasn't an issue during cold nights, when laughter wasn't as rare as flowers during winter, and when life and youth filled his soul. Looking at the flowers, he experienced exhilaration, sadness. Love.

He stood up, joints creaking from the sudden change of stance. The double doors burst open and gave way to him. The stool next to an easel welcomed him. He ran his brush over the palette of mixed colors, dabbing it on a hyper-realistic painting of a bouquet of lilies. The hues blended with each other with every coat, bringing to life what was otherwise an inanimate thing. And unlike the ones in his backyard, these ones would live forever. They would dance with the nonexistent wind for eternity, or at least until they burned to ashes or peeled away under the test of time.

Until then, he wouldn't ever stop painting them. Until a face he forgot greeted him with an embrace, he wouldn't forget the lilies. He wouldn't forget. There would come a time when he could look at her and tell her he missed her too. It was a time to look forward to.