I forcefully straightened my tie in the mirror. Today was the day I finally had to come to terms with the truth. My morning glory has died. My reason for living, my whole world. I will always see her face, and hear her voice. Her hair was always the most vibrant cherry, almost appearing dark pink. Quite like that of a magenta flower, hence the nickname.

                 Just me and my morning glory, those were the days. She was born Sam Woodard. Make no mistake, her full name wasn't Samantha, just Sam. We met when we were twenty, and neither of us had anything to lose. She had left home in a haste, a jerk of a father and a mother who believed everything was a sin. A real winning combo.

                I had just started working on a construction site, and had already been living on my own for a year when she walked in.

               When Sam and I met, it was like two drifters finding a home. It was like rolling hard eights every time. I found her sitting on the step of a coffee shop in the rain, and I knew I had to make her mine.

               Every weekend, when we got off work, I'd take her out and show her a real good time, then she'd disappear into the Monday morning light.

               I became her boyfriend, she became my everything. Her bed was like a warm place to hide from the world outside, and she'd always welcomed me in. It was there in the dark, we shared our promises, our secrets, and our fears.

               I soon learned that Sam liked to sing. She wrote from the heart and sang like it meant her life. Every time one of her shows wrapped up, she'd prod me on the way home and say, "Someday you'll sing for me." To which my response was always, "Not a chance."

              I had hurt her once, back when our love was new. I found my heart wandering, and I surrendered to temptation. I never felt so hopeless as I did when she stood on my doorstep, the rain soaking her clothes and her hair, and trails of mascara cascading down her cheeks. Her words that night had been, "I'm gonna give up now, and walk away while I still can."

            For three weeks the rain was falling in my heart. I spent every night laying awake, I spent every day thinking. Living without her wasn't an option, and so the only thing I could do was get her back.

           I had driven to Sam's house, a flower in my hand and a song in my heart. When she opened that door, with equal parts fear and love simmering just below the surface, I hit my knees and I gave her the flower. I sang the words, "Come back to me, my morning glory. Make my world new again. Come back to me my morning glory, won't you please be my friend?"

           And she pulled me out of the dark, into her house. She took me into her bed that night, and I knew that with her was where I'd always stay. I'd remain at her side forever, and love her like I'd never loved anyone before.

        As we laid there together, her Amaranth-colored hair fell in locks around my shoulders and neck, and her pine green eyes were half-lidded. She grabbed my hand and said, "I told you someday you'd sing for me." My response had been, "I'll always sing for my morning glory."

        The day came that I wanted something more from my morning glory. I wanted her in my heart, and in my home. I wanted my friend and my love where she belonged, with me. She agreed, and we worked on building our home together. She brought with her the love, and the laughter, and of course, the music.

       I would've waited forever for my morning glory, but I couldn't wait any longer to make her my wife. I'd found myself walking hand-in-hand with Sam on the boardwalk. I can still remember the soft coastal breeze blowing her hair, and the spring sunlight hanging overhead.

      I handed her a new pink flower, and asked, "Will you be my morning glory forever?" She took the flower and with a grin said, "I promise to be your morning glory for the rest of our lives."

      Our engagement was a whirlwind. I'd worked hard to buy her the dress she deserved, and we sent out invitations. Sam was going to be my bride, and I was going to keep her feeling safe and loved forever.

    Sometimes when I pass by our room, I can still see her sitting at her vanity, trying on the lace veil and telling me not to look. She was so happy, so radiant. Sam had long believed love was not to be hers, but she'd found it. I found it.

    When I met her at the altar, on a sunny day in June, I promised her my heart, I promised her every part of me. And she'd given me the same promise right back. The preacher told me I could kiss my new wife, and I leaned her back, kissing her soft lips with everything I had.

   And from there we spent our days growing together. We worked hard during the day, and held each other close at night. We stood against everything that came our way, and we pulled each other away from every dark abyss we might've fallen into.

   But those days weren't meant to last. It was a cold night just weeks ago. Soft white snow had fallen like a blanket over the world, silencing it. I promised my morning glory a wonderful Christmas, like she'd never had.

     I tried to get us home, but another driver just didn't stop. He crossed that yellow line and we were hit. I had woken up in the hospital, with morning glory flowers at my bedside. When I didn't see her, I knew why.

    Now I'm on my own. My morning glory has died. I carry her with me, in my heart, and in my mind, but it doesn't stop the pain. In my every dream, I still see her, I can still touch her. Every morning I water the flowers she'd asked for as a gift for her 25th birthday, and I just miss her.

     Beside our bed, I keep a photo of her in her white dress. My favorite work of art. And now, I'm on my way to the cemetery, where I'll say goodbye. Not just to her, but to me too. With my tie fixed, I slip on my coat and as I leave the room, one song comes to me.

   "Come back to me my morning glory

     Make my world new again

    Come back to me my morning glory

    Won't you please be my friend?"