She’d loved the garden very much. Her whole little life she’d loved it. From the egg to the river to the tomatoes she’d lived her life here. The vivid green chilis brought memories of her rabbit friend. The sweet watermelons brought the timid butterfly. The grapevine and the honey suckles. The geckos and the bears. But it all hurt now. It was supposed to mean together, but they weren’t here anymore. The slow little turtle wandered that garden her entire life living just a few little years. Some turtles live 80. She might have lived 6.

Of course, one day she had to give up. Let go of what she had. Her mother wasn’t here. Her friends weren’t here, and she wasn’t 6. She hadn’t been for so long. No one plants the carrots anymore. The gravestone for the dog has all but completely weathered. It wouldn’t matter if the blue stone really were still here. I’ll never get that time back.

I hope that if she ever gets older than elementary school, she’ll plant new sunflowers in a new garden. And they’ll grow and meet new friends and make new memories but never forget the cucumbers in the old one.