The silence was filled with the distant hum of the bees and chirping of the birds and rustle of the branches. “Good dreams don’t end, Rybko,” he said. “They last forever.” The clock seemed to have stopped ticking but my heart has racing and my chest felt heavy. We were running out of time. There were so many things I wanted to tell him. “Good things don’t end,” he repeated gently, surely. “They stay with us forever. In our hearts and minds. Imprinted in our souls.”