That woodland path, where you walked Dexter each morning. Worn by your footsteps. Those daffodils, flowering from the bulbs you planted. That watercolour, painted by your hands. Until that path is overgrown, those daffodils no longer bloom, that painting has faded to nothing, how can I say you’re truly gone?

David Lowis lives in Surrey, England, and has had microfiction and short stories published in various online publications.