"The night is darkest,

"The spring hasn't arrived yet.
The park's ponds haven't thawed. The flowers haven't bloomed. The sun, still in slumber.
The only song that I can hear is that of a lonely heart.
With each beat, my hands grow colder. I can no longer feel the warmth of my mother's hand in mine.
What a terrible gift to remember all that you experience as an infant. Maybe it wouldn't have hurt so much if I didn't recall her. Waking up to my mother's beautiful amber eyes that outshone the sun. Her sweet touches, her silky hair. Her every word was music to my ears."

A short story inspired by a prompt on reedsy.com:
"Write a story about someone walking through a park on a spring evening, told only through internal monologue."