every morning when I'd wake up next to you, I'd walk out into our little garden

I would listen to the morning bird's sounds as I sprinkle our peonies with fresh water

every now and then when I went back into our house I'd smell pancake batter float from the kitchen

but most days I'd hear your light snores from our shared bed

and I'd crawl back underneath the covers and you'd pull me into your embrace as I fell back asleep

as I wake up alone on another sunny spring morning, I decide to walk out into the garden for the first time in months

the garden has died and wilted into the dirt

and the peonies, wilted just like the rest of the garden, no longer remind me of home

they now remind me of those mornings with you

but the morning bird's don't sound like they used to