I wake to sunlight, and it immediately brings a smile to my lips. Today is going to be a good day. And that's a promise to myself. I turn over in bed, eyes locking onto the rose.

And then onto the single petal that has fallen beside the glass.

I take a shaky breath, reaching out my hand to brush my fingers along it. I must have knocked it last night. I need to water it. That must be what it is.

I swing my legs out of bed, standing slowly to let the blood rush back to my feet before attempting to move. I've made the mistake of moving too early a lot recently.

Once in the bathroom, I tip our toothbrushes out of the cup, filling it to the brim with water and carrying it back to the bedroom, where I pour it into the famished flower's glass, watching it for a while, even though I know that I'm not going to see anything happen.

You're just being stupid, Alex. Pull yourself together. I sigh, standing from the bed again and pulling on my discarded jacket from last night. My clothes are rumpled from sleeping on them, but they'll do. It's not like I'm going anywhere special.

Even though I know that the kitchen cupboards will be fully stocked, I decide to eat out for breakfast. I'm tired of cooking toast. Well- of burning it. Each and every morning I do it, and then still have to eat it. I'm not sure how long it's been since I cooked myself a proper dinner.

I make my way down the stairs, hand trailing lightly along the wall as I move slowly, pausing when I reach the foot of them to breathe for a moment. Am I really going to do this? It seems so. I let my fingers brush against her jacket as I grab my keys from the hook beside the door, pulling it open and stepping out before I change my mind. Fresh air is good for you, Alex. Just do it and get it over with.

A car zooms past just as I step out onto the pavement, the gust it whips-up messing with my hair and chilling me slightly. I take a step back, checking the pavement either way before fully stepping out once more, fingers nervously fiddling with the hem of my crumpled shirt. Why am I so nervous? My mother literally kicked me out of my own house a week ago, and I ran from the house and straight to Addie's with no qualms whatsoever.

But this time feels different, somehow. I cross the street, eyes flicking about. I don't even know where I'm going. That is, until the gates of the park appear ahead of me, and I realise that my feet have betrayed me. I walk with jelly legs towards them, my brain melting and running from my skull down into the drain as the pressure of what I'm about to do hits me.

I wait outside the gate for a woman with a push-chair to come through, holding it open for her and smiling. She doesn't need to know how stressed-out I am. She smiles back, and I can hear the baby giggling, two tiny hands just visible from under the hood of the buggy. I look away, eyes watering, before pushing the gate back open and hurrying through.

No turning back.

I stand in the park, just through the gate, and stare all around with wide eyes. I haven't been here without Bailey. Not even once. This was our casual place: Sunday afternoon strolls, a quick walk after school, a day trip in the summer for a picnic. And most of all, it's the cut-through up and out of the city to our spot- a little patch of green overlooking the city. A place to watch the sun rise or set, and to be away from everything. Just the thought of going there without Bailey both excites and scares me.

I head on, breathing a bit faster than before, but I don't let it stop me. I won't. This is good for me, contrary as it is to the way my palms are sweating and my heart is beating.

I catch a sight of someone in a fluorescent jacket, picking trash. One of the maintenance crew for the park. I look closer, drawing a deep breath when I recognise the shaggy grey curls, even at this distance. I turn on my heel, desperate to get away, but it's too late. He's calling my name.

"Alex! Alex! Hello! Haven't seen you here recently!" George waves me over, and I have no choice but to turn back around and paste a smile, forcing my legs to move towards him against their- and my- will.

"Hey." I force the smile a little more, rubbing a hand along the back of my neck.

"How are you, Alex? Long time no see!" The old man stands straighter, resting his litter picker against the ground and looking me up and down.

"I'm alright."

"Only alright? You can do better than that, Alex! Where's your girl? Not here today?"

I suck in a breath. I knew this was coming. Bailey and George got along really well, due to George's loneliness, and how willing he was to talk to anybody who would listen. And it was down to Bailey's kindness and smiles towards anyone and everyone. They immediately bonded, and every time we came here after that she insisted on finding him and saying hello.

"She's, uh." I pause, my hand pausing it's movements to rest against my neck, applying just enough pressure for me to feel. "She got ill, George."

"Oh, yes. That's right. And then she got better, didn't she! And we had that lovely party here! So kind of her to think of me..."

"No, George." I cut him off before he can go further, guilt coursing through me. This might break him. He truly loved Bailey like she was his own daughter. "She got worse again afterwards. About when we stopped coming here. Really sick." I swallow, choking back down the bile rising in my throat. This is awful.

"Well. Send her my love. Maybe I'll have some flowers ready for next time you come here, so you can take them to her."

I swallow back the lump in my throat again, blinking rapidly to stop a tear from falling. "George." I speak softly.

He doesn't hear, turning back to another piece of rubbish and picking it up, humming softly to himself. It's out of tune. I place my hand on his arm, and he stops humming. But only for a second.

"George." He ignores me. "George."

"George." This time he looks up, humming stopping for good, and eyes shiny. "Do you understand what I'm trying to say?" He nods, not meeting my eye. "She's gone, George."

He slowly lowers his arm, eyes filling with tears. Oh, god. Please don't cry. I immediately feel bad for thinking it, but this isn't easy for me, either. Him crying is going to end in me crying. And I don't want to cry today. It might lead to me being a mess, and I don't want that again full stop, never mind in public.

"I know, lad. It's nice to suspend belief sometimes, though, hey?" I nod, and he blinks away the tears, patting my arm. I can feel just how frail he is in that one gesture. I can also feel all of his affection for Bailey. And, apparently, for me.

"How have you been holding up?"

"As can be expected." I suddenly feel awkward having this conversation with him, here, where anyone could walk past and overhear.

He seems to sense this, as he smiles, lifting his litter picker again. "Well. I'll let you get on, then, young man. You must have come here for a reason, if not with her for a nice stroll. If you ever need anything, you know where I am. Even though I doubt you'd turn to me." He laughs as he says it, so I know he's not offended by the thought of it. He just knows me too well.

I smile, thanking him and taking my leave, feet picking up the pace until I've put a considerable distance between us. This is exactly what I've been trying to avoid for the past six months. This is why- whenever I can help it- I don't leave the house.

I pass the bench we used to sit on, and stop. Maybe going up to our place is a bad idea. I should just stop here today- make the full trek another day. One step at a time.

I sink onto the bench, breathing a sigh of relief as the tension leaves my legs. It doesn't leave my chest though. I press my hands onto the seat either side of me to keep myself steady, pushing myself further back into the crook of the bench, so that my back is pressed right up against the rest. It's not tall enough for me, though, so I find myself leaning too far back, until my head is bent right back on my neck, eyes staring up at the cloudless sky.

I never expected to see George here today. If I'm really honest with myself- I forgot about him, until just now. That fact fills me with even more guilt, but I know that even if I'd remembered before, I'd have felt guilty, because there was no way I would have gotten myself out here to let him know, or comfort him. I'm barely staying out here.

My knuckles have turned white against the bench, and I try to let go a little, to let them lose some tension and keep myself calm, but when I let go I feel like the bench has disappeared from beneath me, and I grab it again, tighter this time. Keep yourself grounded, Alex. No mind-wandering today. Not in public. But apparently the world has other plans.

I find myself back in our garden, completely alone, and I take a breath. This is how my dream always starts. But it's never come during the day before. I try to shake it off, but Bailey appears, smiling and laughing. She runs out of the back door, and I find myself smiling and beckoning her over, when all I'm trying to do is scream at her to run. No noise leaves my lips, and she continues towards me, still smiling.

I find myself wishing I could wipe that smile off of her face. Stop her from being so trusting and tell her that she shouldn't trust me; that I'm not worth it. She can't hear my thoughts. And I can't speak.

I'm not in control of my body. The dream is.

Bailey picks up her speed, starting to laugh as she gets closer, and I will myself to back away. I can't, but even if I could, it would only delay the inevitable. It would stretch out what's coming and leave me aching all over, just as much if I just got it over with. Just like Bailey's medication. The thought makes me retch, and vomit rises in my throat, but nothing comes out my mouth. I wish it would; get it up and out and gone, instead of leaving it to sit there, smouldering and burning at every slight move of the body or mind.

She gets within touching distance, and I'm straining against whatever unseen force is pushing us together. I'm straining against our love. And that's not right.

She reaches out her hand for mine, and it's like the world goes into slow motion. I stare at it, eyes shining with tears as the very tips of her fingers make contact with mine, her hand moving further and further into my own until we're holding hands. And then it starts.

It's barely noticeable at first: just a slight degradation of the nails. And then the entire tips of her fingers disintegrate, and I can see the dust that was once her fingertips falling to the ground like a fresh snowfall.

Her hands go next, falling from my grip even as I struggle to hold on. As if somebody flicked a switch, I'm able to move again. It's far too late to stop this, but in her final moments maybe I can bring her a modicum of comfort. I think this every time. This is nothing new.

Her arms turn to dust, and it's spreading, faster and faster. Her shoulders are going, her feet are starting to go. She crumples to the floor and her legs are fast disappearing. All of it to dust. Or is it ash? The ash of our relationship. We were burning, burning, burning down. And this is all that is left of us. Ashes.

Her illness wore us down, even when we still clung to our love. It wore me down.

I lunge forward to grab her in a desperate attempt to save her, my arms wrapping around her waist just as it turns to dust, and she disintegrates beneath my fingers. I fall to my hands and knees as her head disappears, eyes wide with terror, pleading with me to do something. I can do nothing for her. Nothing.

And then she's gone.

I'm left with a pile of ash, moving slightly whenever the breeze picks up a little. Some of it is on me. Some of it is under me. It is all around me, swirling in the air I breathe in.

My hands and arms are coated in it; a thick covering all the way up to my elbows. It clings to my skin, not letting go. It should annoy me, but I'm clinging too. I lunge into the pile of it, trying to grab handfuls of it and press it back together, tears falling down my cheeks and into it, making it into a soggy mess. The tears leave trails through the dust on my cheeks, marking pathways I'll never follow.

Come back. Just come back to me, Bailey. I delve into the pile even further, until I'm up to my waist in it, knees bent beneath me and face bent down so close to the ashes that whenever I breathe some of it lifts, hitting my face and nose, coating the tubes there and making me cough. The coughing sends more of it flying into the air, and the breeze is picking up around me- it's becoming a strong wind, until it seems to rain the ash. It's raining Bailey. It's raining us.

It flies everywhere, whipping about like snow or sand in a storm, and smacking me in the face, the arms, my chest; catching in my hair. My eyes are stinging as tiny particles of it enter them, scratching and burning even as more tears gather, washing away some of it. But there's always more to replace it.

I raise myself to my knees in the midst of the storm, tears splashing the ground around me and clearing tiny patches, before they are covered once more by the ash. Just a drop in the ocean.

It smashes into me, beating me down, down, down, until I'm laying on my back, helpless under the deluge. I am screaming, screaming. I open my mouth as I do it, and the ash rushes in but I don't care, I don't care. I just want it to stop.

Just as my screaming reaches a crescendo, the storm stops, the ash freezing midair, and then drifting lifelessly back to the ground. It lays scattered across my lawn. It's in the trees right at the bottom of the garden. It's caught in the grass. There's an ant nearby crawling along the ground, laden with so much of it that it's limbs are too clogged up to move more than a few sluggish steps at a time.

My mind feels like that ant. Clogged-up. Useless. Immovable. But my body is raring to go, and it moves across the lawn, lightning fast, eyes darting. I am not in control anymore. the dream has taken over once more.

I find myself scrambling around in the now grey grass, covered from head to toe in the dust of my love, breathing her in from the air and choking on it. That is our love now. This is what it has become.

I am desperate; I am desperation. I am the essence of that word, picking up the pieces of our broken love even when it's futile. They are scattered far and wide, and no amount of loving her, or searching, can bring it all back. It just doesn't work like that in the real world. Nothing happens with a snap of the fingers.

I love her. I love her. I love her. This isn't real. You love her, Alex.

I do love her. I love her oh so much. But that is my problem- my downfall. It always has and always will be. Our love is what has broken me. Loving too hard but not enough. Loving with everything I had, and yet giving her nothing.

Loving. Yet she died. Despite my love, despite my care.

The ashes in my hands are starting to clump together, sticking to me like glue. I shake my hand, confused, and a little of it falls like glitter. Glitter when all its shine is gone.

I blow it, and the ashes scatter. I find myself watching, mesmerised. And then I remember myself and scramble to gather them again. The tears have stopped. My heart is racing.

From the West, a wind picks up, gathering speed so quickly I have no time to react. It picks up the small pile I've managed to make, and whips it into the air, away, and over the fence.

I watch, helplessly, until all of the ash is gone, except for the bits that are still clinging to my skin and hair. And then I sit back on my haunches. There's silence, and I sit, mind quiet for the first time since this started.

And then the wailing starts.

It is my own.