His feet hadn't felt grass in years. The thought needled him. Where had the years gone. His phone vibrated. The irony kissed him. The years had been given to her. She hadn't asked for them. He hadn't known what to do with them. Gone they had gone, all the same.

The grass was young and hugged him. The sun embraced him. His phone again buzzed him. His past chasing him. But the moment was pure. This place was his cure. Here he imagined. Dreaming of the life he had failed to procure.

There was only the present.

He felt. His eyelids tore apart. He searched his body. There were no wounds. He was weeping. The gut curled. The jaw locked. His throat produced a primal grunt he had never known. There was only the moment.

Once the moment had passed, and he could breath, he checked his phone. The text told him what he already knew, it said she was dead, that they had done all they could do.

He nestled back into the grass. Free from his past.