Every year I come here to celebrate the day she left me.

Ten years ago, there was mostly grass in this field. We used to come here and watch the clouds pass by. I told them the truth; I had a wife that was terribly too kind for everyone, that she wanted to help the world so much she wished to be buried within the forest, so that her body would be a part of their growth. See? She had a flawlessly beautiful heart that I would do anything, anything, for her.
But I never quite understood why she left. They said she probably got bored, or she ran away with someone else and changed her identity because even after five years, not a single trace, not even a body, was found. The police gave up eventually.

I told them the truth.

But little did they know, that day she told me she wanted to die. She was more than perfect, but maybe depression does blind one's eyes. It broke my heart when she kept telling me her departure would make the world a better place.

I wanted to save her.

But how could I say no to that face?

"In ten years," You crossed your legs beside me. "Where would you wanna live?"

"Hm.." I narrowed my eyes, thinking carefully about what could happen. After a long moment I pointed my finger to a small shadow behind the trees, next to the suburban area.
"There."
You smiled. Your hair danced to the touch of a morning wind, kind of like the grass upon these hills

"Where would you?" I glanced at your nervous laugh.
You lifted your finger up to my place, shoving mine aside.
I moved my finger back, trying to land it where I pointed. You insisted.

"Hey!" I squealed, "That's my place."

It took you a brief second until I heard,
"Exactly."

"Is your mom a pilot?"
I walked towards you with a cup of cold tea, just the way you liked it--a little too sweet for me.
You frowned.
"No, where did you get that idea?"
I shrugged.

You started sipping the iced comfort as I said,
"Your sister told me she loved to fly like your mother.."
You choked a little.
"...and she'll tell her that she likes me when you two get home."

I giggled.
But then I couldn't forget the way your skin paled and you looked at me in such horror.

"Rach," Your voice trembled,
"My Ma jumped out of our ninty-feet balcony three years ago."

They were walking on the left side of the road, watching the cars that moved in a slow motion; a hundred faces with a hundred different stories.
It was almost a hot day.
He wore a striped jacket and she accused him for stealing it from a zebra; and they laughed at her lame jokes, his unamusing puns, and their unbelievably dry sense of humor.
The pavements were filled with nothing but giggles, and yellow, and pink.
But she was wondering
Why did it feel like she was ten feet under the water, grasping for air---drowned in a pitch black sea?

"What if," She whispered.
"What if summer remains the same and the sun shines too fondly that rain makes no sense at all?"
They stared at the coffee table, letting the words float between the air--and the question marks.
"What then?"
There was only silence.