There are many things I want to tell him.

This morning, I didn’t arrange daisy in the vases. Instead, I told a story about him teaching my sons how to wash dishes efficiently.

“…And that was when I began to convince myself that I needed him for the rest of my life. But he died. And my sons started to ask if I would consider to buy them a dishwasher with the money he left,” I had told my widowed fellows and they laughed.

I want to tell him that he still could make people laugh. I want to tell him that. But I can’t.

I can only sit in my car as the sun goes down.

Chanyeol loved this camp and my heart aches a little because I know it’s just an empty hope to wish a meeting with him in the place where life put him on my path for the first time.

He might’ve asked if I’m alright.

“Love, I’m not, you died,” I feel tears on my cheek as I chuckle when I can almost feel his softest touch on my face, telling me to stop crying.

Death is the biggest unknown, perhaps, he would’ve whispered.

Then, I’d probably be willing to understand, though it would still break me in pieces before I rebuild myself.

Why did