Begin again.

An old man who moved in with his younger wife once lived in a one-story, red-bricked house in Lansport, the town where St. Peter's Cemetery was located. Almost three years ago, he had a heart-attack while watering his prized daffodils, and was rushed to the nearest hospital.

During that year, Dr. Jonathan Whitman, a famous doctor and resident psychologist in a top hospital in the city, was doing volunteer work in that general hospital. He was the one who saved that old man's life, and as gratitude, he rented his old home to the doctor and his newly-adopted son, saying that he was moving back to his home town.

The old man and his wife, a brunette almost thirty years younger than him, were in a taxi heading to the airport in another town. The old man wore a blue plaid shirt and white slacks, and his wife wore a bright sundress and large shades. She took off her shades and turned to her husband, saying "Did you notice that doctor's son?"

"Ah, yes, the one he adopted last year," her husband replies, smiling fondly at the memory of meeting the doctor again. "One of his arms are now just a sad stump; I heard he got it very badly injured, the poor boy," he added.

The wife shook her head, making her curly brown locks shift across her shoulders. "I didn't focus on his stump, really. Did you see his eyes?"

"Why, what of it?" her husband asked.

The wife looked away thoughtfully, looking concerned. "I don't know why, but when I first met him, I felt shivers run down my spine when I saw his eyes. They're just so...empty," she confessed.

"Yes," her husband said, nodding. "They are a unique shade of grey, aren't they? That boy must have gone through so many horrible things to have eyes as empty as his," he said.

The day the old man and his wife were leaving was the one year anniversary of Joe Hardy's death. Dr. Whitman and his adopted son had been living in a small apartment in the city, but for that occasion the doctor decided to bring his son closer to St. Peter's Cemetery. That morning, Whitman and his son bought white roses and a white balloon, with its string being held tightly by the boy. On that day, the air was still, and the windmill past the empty cemetery moved slowly, sometimes stopping completely.

Dr. Whitman held back when they arrived at the hill holding Joe's grave. He stood next to the car, hands in his pockets, as he watched the boy walk up the hill, holding both the flowers and the balloon string with his left hand.

"Are you going to be okay?" he had asked in the car, looking at him through the rearview mirror.

"Yes," he said. "I'll be fine."

The flowers he had put there months ago were still in their place, though dried up and brown. The boy knelt down and skillfully tied the balloon string around a small knob on the gravestone; after he had to get his right arm amputated, he had learned how to do get by with just one hand.

 Then, he took out the dried flowers from the vase and put them aside, replacing them with the new white flowers. He then sat back and took a breath, his eyes running over the same gilded words he had read over and over before.

Above him, the white balloon wavered in the wind for a moment, and then completely stopped to a standstill. It was as if the world watched him with bated breath.

He opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly felt like his mouth had turned dry. He had been thinking of what he would say for weeks now, but now of all times, he was at loss for words.

But then again no one can blame him; for when you lose someone dear to you at such a young age, one would always find it extremely difficult to go on with life and talk about the deceased with a light heart. When you lose anyone you care about, even just talking to their gravestone like when they were alive is near to impossible.

The boy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, he was still there in front of Joe Hardy's grave, and the only person he could consider his friend and first love waited for him to say something.

"I'm here," he began, his voice slightly husky. "I brought you new flowers and a white balloon. I know that you weren't into bright colors, but I just thought it might, well...fit the situation a bit better," he continued, saying whatever came to his mind.

"I...I always think of you. It's been twelve months since you died, and I still think of you. There are times when I wonder what you would be doing now if you were still alive. Would you have been adopted? You were nearing the work force age, and you'd be seventeen. I see ads for work and wonder how it would be if you were looking at those ads and taking note of contact numbers for interviews. I'm constantly thinking about you. I don't even force it; it just...happens.

"And Joe, it's an understatement for me to simply say that I miss you. It's surprising how vocal I can be about my emotions now; you have probably seen the things I went through after your funeral from your spot up there, but I've changed a lot. You'd be very proud of me if you were alive now. You'd be hugging me and telling me that I've grown up, that I'm maturing now. You'd kiss my head and hold me close, and..."

The boy stopped. Some things were better off left unsaid, even if the person you were about to tell them to was six feet below the ground.

"I've been adopted," the boy said after a short pause. "And next week I will be going to a proper high school, nothing like the classes we had back at the orphanage. I don't know how to talk to people, and I'm not sure I'll be wanting to make any friends. No one can replace you, Joe. No one."

He held out his good hand and ran his fingers over Joe's name. In his mind, he was caressing Joe's cheek.

"I'm going to keep myself safe for you. No more trying to hurt myself. I'm going to be the best version of myself, because I know that's what you would have wanted."

A small smile managed to grace the boy's face. He did not smile a lot, but when he thought of Joe, his true emotions were revealed to the world.

"I don't mind if I can only be with you again in my dreams. As long as it's for you, I'm going to make things right with my past. Just wait and see, Joe. You wait and see. "

End.