To Arnette, who loved red roses,

When you're reading this letter, I will no longer be under the same sky as you. I write this letter to leave one final memory with you.

Arnette, before I met you, life was only a grueling journey toward death. It's ironic that I lived on a place called Abundance Street, because I only ever felt empty inside. All I ever did was sit on the wooden bench in front of my house, reading books.

But you were the light in my life. You approached me with a wagon full of fragrant flowers and a big, lovely smile.

Maybe it was the smile that engrossed me. Listening to your voice, telling me stories outside of my book, it helped me forget the pain that was weighing down my heart. (Though Randolph always scolded us for being too noisy.)

But you have not come to this street in some time now. You always came to sell flowers for your sick siblings. Then five days... two weeks... and now a year has passed... You did not come back; you even left your empty wagon.

I wish I could see your smile again, but unfortunately I don't have much time left. I planted your favorite red roses near Abundance Street, as I missed you too much.

When those roses bloom and make the street brighter, I won't be alive to see it. But I hope you will smile at the roses when you return.

That is my sincere wish... Goodbye, Arnette.

- Your regular,
Scott