I lay the chrysanthemum across the stone, letting my fingers trail across thecut of his name andignoring the tears that never seem far from my eyes these days. Even threemonths later, I havenightmares about him. Not his death, though I still have day-mares aboutthat. My nightmares are muchworse.“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ll watch the world while you sleep.
-Mary Elizabeth Summer
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