"Hey, I brought you flowers," Dad said, "I'm so sorry for your loss" he kissed my forehead and set the flowers down on a table.

"Thank you, Dad," He smiled and left. I gazed through my window down at earth, and at my love I lost twenty years ago, Paul. He was still alive. I loved him dearly and craved to be reunited with him, but the only way for that to happen would be if he died. I knew that dying would scar him, which was the last thing I wanted.

Dying was the worst experience for me. Sure, the pain was agonising, but not nearly as painful as being ripped away from my kids, my friends... and Paul. He was everything to me. We did everything together. Losing him... it was indescribable. What it did to him, though, was far worse.