he hadn't forgot that day nor how they used to celebrate together, just like the smell of dahlias surrounding her so strongly, he had every year those was growing, picked a few & put on the grave, but now he was here, at the grave & holding the gift he had for her. A NECKLACE by his own creation to flames in need as a few iron pieces, just like he had searched around for a purple stone to melt it together with, crouching down in a level to the worn out cross, a strong hand moved up to touch the spot as he sighed softly. ❪ it was the hardest time of the year because he always loved the time when she had him in his lap during the gift opening. ❫
‘ hey mom .. it’s been a while and I’m sorry that i couldn’t visit faster ..but i had hard time to finish this gift of yers .. I know yer can’t wear it anyway .. but .. merry christmas mom. ’ , he tiled softly before hung the necklace over the cross, the snow was GLISTERING it softly.