Please don't cry

I watch my spouse climb out of his silver pickup truck, clutching a bouquet of soft pink lilies in his hands.
I smile as he approaches me and lays them at my feet.
"You are the sweetest," I tell him, and I mean it.
He has always been so thoughtful.
I get new flowers every week, and they are always my favorite kinds.
Lilies of the valley, lush pink Peonies, dark purple and white crocuses, and so on.

He doesn't answer, tilting his head up to the atmosphere above.
I do the same, curious as to what has captured his attention.
Unfriendly grey clouds have begun to creep across the sky,
replacing the warm gold of the sun with a forbidding blue hue.

He looks to me now, but I feel as though he is looking through me
rather than at me.

"I miss you." His voice is quiet, and I see his adam's apple jump as he swallows hard;
suppressing the tears that I can see welling up in his eyes nonetheless.

"But I'm right here," I reply, concerned. I hate seeing him like this. It breaks my heart.

He doesn't answer. I don't think he heard me.
I reach out, wiping an escaped tear from his cheek with my thumb.
"I'm right here, love!" I say again. I just want to see him smile again.
It's been ages since I've seen him happy.

But he doesn't react when I touch him. It's like he can't even feel it.

He wipes his wet eyes with the back of his hand, then promptly turns around
and makes his way back to his truck.

I wish I could go with him.
I look forward to his visits; the graveyard is a lonely place.