birthday.

It was my birthday. Which meant it had been a year since my beloved died. He died during a car crash; this information is relevant later.

Anyway, my family resented Michael. They were almost enthusiastic when the news came back to us of his disappearance; and, to please them, I pretended I was too.

But I was anything but contented.

I still love him now. Utterly. He is the sun in which I orbit, and is the beauty of my light. This may sound weird, but I talk to him every morning, and I told myself this after he died — every year, on my birthday, I would visit his grave.

I kept it.

Before my parents found out, I was already out of the house. I felt the tingle of the morning shower, yet it wasn't cold. In fact, I almost welcomed it.

When I arrived at the graveyard, sweaty and tired, I kneeled in front of his grave and dipped my head. "Michael," I murmur, "my precious Michael. Wherever you are, I hope you are happy."

I will not mention my mourning that dawn. Instead, I will talk about what happens when I get home.

My parents were awake, but didn't question me when I walked into the house; it wasn't uncommon for me to take strolls in the morning sometimes. Though, I thought they'd be a little concerned since it was, kind of, like, my birthday and all.

Whatever.

"I have a surprise for you!" Mom exclaims, a large smirk plastered on her face. Um… Okay then.

"What is it?"

"Come to the garage and find out!"

So I do. I follow behind my mother with ease, playing with my phone as we walked. I didn't even look up when we entered the garage, fearful of what I'd see.

"Here it is!"

I looked up — and froze. I stared, confused at what I was seeing. Then surprised. Then angry. Then heartbroken.

It was the same car Michael had crashed.