He spent endless hours, working on that garden. Tending to the slightess limp of a petal. Carfully pulling unwanted sprouts from their bases. Stroking their sturdy stems, curious of their strenght. With a teary eye, he procceed to the shears. Staring down at them in his hand, affraid of their power. Slowly engulfing the stalk, he squeezes. The white sap runs along the steel blade, penitrating the the thorns. A rose flutters to the ground. A single tear races down his cheek. Picking up the flower, he lays it on her grave. Smiles. Wipes his face. She was everything.