'Till Death do we Part

You remember those soft subtle hands finding themselves curling up your body. And now you see them with the same beauty detached at the wrist. In a sense of remembrance you place the promise on her finger and mutter to yourself, 'Till death do we part". A beautiful bride she'd have made. However it was clearly said there was no such thing as truthful word until this moment. He had made sure that one promise was kept. Here she was, a moment before. And here he is; together until parted. Oh what a shame. He would have loved to see her dance. Dressed in white he'd have taken her hand, smiled and said, "Till death do we part". And she would have agreed, smiling serene. His grief will be of only being forced on such an act. Nothing more would ever cease to be, but a promise he could never see broke was made cement. Speaking of which, he should really start digging. Is it better to dig twice as deep or twice as wide for two dying tonight?