We faced each other under the tree I’d like to call my second home. It was a chilly day in the midst of a beautiful winter. The sheen of snow over her head glistened in the weak November sun.
Everything around us appeared romantic. Except her eyes. She blinked through angry tears, staring at me as if I had committed a felony.
I had instead asked her to spend the rest of her life with me. And she replied with nothing more than a stream of tears rolling down her cheeks, now pale from the cold.
She walked away while I watched my hopes dangle from her coat pockets.
I got the call a week later. Summer hadn’t told me about her fatal illness. She left and eternal winter engulfed me.