Lily’s Garden

When the Summer comes, my herb garden becomes my favorite spot. Lily and I would go there, wandering around for hours. I would sit on the earthen floor – talking to Lily for hours. She would ignore me as usual. Lily is really a good listener though she doesn’t understand human language.
Weeks later, I began notice that she drink more water. Bowls of water, in a day. Her livers were failing, the vet said. It was a hopeless case. Days after that, she departed for God’s Heaven and left me behind helplessly.
I used to sing a lot. Mom once said, my voice floated upward with the warm summer air in such a powerful contralto when I sing. It sounded so pleasant as to emit such powerful, calming vibe out of the words I sang. But now, I have no idea what to do.
It is Summer now. Lily’s gone. I would rather hide in bed and await for Winter so that it would wash what’s left of me and Lily’s feeble, small, rotting body buried deep beneath the earthen floor of my herb garden. I love you, Lily. Forever I do.

Unofficially 18 this year; a bibliophile.
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