Daisies were ours. For us. For our daughter. I still lay a thick bouquet of white daisies on her grave at least once a week. I know you’re with her now. Can you ask her if she still likes them? Or if I should stop? Do you still like them? Because I picked out a dress for when they finally put me in that casket. It’s handsewn lace in the shape of daisies. I know I missed my chance in this lifetime, but if there’s any hope of a second chance for us… I’ll be there. In a white dress. Waiting for you at the gazebo.
Damn okay gonna make me cry in the prologue
