She lies there. Sick. Breathing shaky, weak. Heart slow, weak. Eyes half closed, weak. He holds her hand. She can’t speak. He can.

“Do you remember Narcissus? Who couldn’t let go of his love? Who would never forget? Who stayed and sat and waited forever, till he became the flowers?”

She doesn’t respond, but she remembers. And she watches as he puts the forget me not in her curled fingers.