He laid on the dewy grass and the hard clumps of dirt. Alone. He watched the stars fade away and the moon give way to the sun. Alone. He remembered the sweet memories and cried gentle tears. Alone. He was so very aware of the fact that he was alone. He missed the warmth beside him. He missed that warm smile, that bubbly laugh. He missed the way the snow looked like stars when it landed on the backdrop of long black hair. He missed the smell of green apples and cinnamon, almond eyes that he could always get lost in. He missed the little things, the big things, and everything in between. But most of all, he missed the heart that had been bought, using the memories as a form of currency. He often wondered if it was worth it, and always decided that it was. The memories were better than the what-ifs.