The sun is rising but its bright rays fail to warm my skin. It used to be different though. When she was with me I felt as warm as those rays. She would stand beside me and fix her eyes upon the horizon. She'd watch as each ray spilled over the hills. I would watch her; the rays would bathe her in light. Her brown hair became gold and red. That simple transformation could hold my attention for hours. Ah...but I never watched for long, instead my gaze would move to her face. The delicate lips she complained about being too small would hold a smile of pure contentment. Her gray eyes would soak in the sun and reflect her soul. As the sunrise ended and a new day began, those eyes would turn to me and she made me feel as strong and warm as the sun. Her smile would grow even when I thought it couldn't.

Her smile was what I loved the most. She always smiled. I promised myself everyday that I'd be worthy of those lovely smiles. Sometimes a terrible sorrow would hit me, though I knew not why, and I would rest my head against her neck and feel her smile turn from happy to loving and supportive as she kissed the top of my head. I think she smiled from the day she was born until her last days. Those last days were agonizing. She tried her best to hide her pain, to smile comfortingly at me. I did my best to hide my pain, though I knew I'd lose her soon. Through all my attempts to hide my pain, I slipped up only once. The evening I was told she'd die I lost it; I forgot she was in the room next door. I yelled and cried. No one or thing could stop me, except her soft voice from the other room. She said just my name and her voice pierced my heart. I ran to her room, she said she missed me. I knew she heard what was happening, and spoke in an attempt to stop me, it worked.

I stayed by her side constantly after that. When she was strong enough, I made her order me about, give me things to do. I'd rush about on these errands thinking deep down, if I kept busy she may live. I was racing against time to find something that would end her pain and keep her with me, but none such miracle was found.

The week before she died, she was so weary. She could no longer smile without growing tired. I cried and smiled and hurt for her as best as I could. I pretended to not notice the winces she suppressed and only added blankets when she shivered uncontrollably. I spoke of anything I could that was pleasant and cried only out of her hearing and sight. The day before she died was a beautiful day, so glorious that it hurt. She looked at me and managed to smile, before telling me she'd see me again. The next morning she was dead; her lips were still and straight, her eyes no longer glittered with life, and her hair which used to catch the sun, seemed dead and almost black.

She was right. I see her every night. She was taken from me, but in mercy I'm allowed to see her. Her spirit and soul come to me. She tells me how much she loves me and whispers promises of a future. No one will believe me, they think grief blinds me, but I know the truth. I feel her touch on my cheek, her breath against my neck. I see her hair, rich and alive, as it tumbles down her back and her lips as they smile lovingly at me. I've come to love the night and hate the day. The cursed sun takes her away every dawn; she fades with the sunrise...