An unfinished/unedited work of fiction

A year has passed, and everything. Everything is so daintily the same. The same trees you have been passing by for less than half a decade are still the same trees I see now, only, more withered. Aged. Waves of leaves have fallen since then, and perhaps the very ground I'm treading has been waxed, sealed by the dictionaries of leaves that were shed.
The air still carries the odd, fruity smell that no one could describe; it is comparable to freshly cut grass, the soothing aroma of all things new. Although both of us know that time shall pass, and the odor will start to lash at our lungs, the pungent odor of spoiled fruit.
This is exactly the kind of day that I would call you up and tell you, yes, tell you, because it needn't be asked. I would tell you, while looking upwards, looking at the majestic trees that no one notices, looking at patterns, at possible symbols, at everything. Everything beautiful.
I would tell you, Isn't it beautiful outside?

*****

I told you this not just once before, and maybe you remember, maybe you don't. I told you, my greatest fear. I told you this with my lips curved in a grimace, definitely unsure what words to form. My eyes were squinted, squinted so I wouldn't look so sad. I said, My greatest fear, as of now, (as of then), is that after graduation, we'll...
I stuttered, I remember. I remembered the drink I had almost spilled, I remember your pink striped blouse, I remember the 205.00 bill on the lower part of our receipt, I even remember the number 8 and the number 6. I remember the sound of your voice, and how I felt hearing it.
I wish I could remember your face then.
...maybe we'll... fall apart...

*****

Of course you told me not to worry, because worrying will bring me nowhere, and that I should leave it up to fate. Or destiny. Or whatever.
I tried.
I tried to argue. Because, if we had the chance to poke a few needles into the threads of fate, why shouldn't we?
You shook your head.

*****

A year has passed, and nothing has changed. The same trees, the same buildings. The breath I draw now may have passed by you while you were still here. I miss you.