I died on February 14th, Valentine's Day.
He was dressed in a white suit I had custom-made for him, marrying another girl.
He thoughtfully carried the hem of her wedding dress, holding her hand as they walked down a path strewn with rose petals, receiving everyone's blessings.
Streamers flew through the air, landing in the bride's hair, and he looked at her tenderly, carefully picking them out.
Everything in front of me was exactly as I had dreamed my wedding would be.
He remembered all my wishes, but he forgot me.
Just as he wanted, I died, never to disturb his and the other girl's bright future again.
It wasn't until the day of my funeral that he finally remembered everything. The me he so detested was actually his first love, whom he had deeply loved for twenty years...
