Today is beautiful. You can feel the warmth the minute you walk outside into the sun. I walk down to the cemetary, which is only a street away from my house. I sit under a tree and read a book. Soon after I arrive, a van drops off an old women at one of the graves and drives a few rows back as if to give the woman space to grieve. Although I am several hundred feet away, I can hear the sobs escaping from the woman's mouth. She cries out for the one she has lost. Pulling a piece of paper from her pocket, she reads from it through her gasps for air and tears. She is so overwhelmingly distraught I feel guilty for sitting here and watching, as if I'm intruding. She runs a cloth all over the tombstone; cleaning every bit of it until it is shining beneath the sun. The van comes back and picks her up. I walk over to the grave that she has just been mourning over. The tombstone has beautiful birds on it. I hope my tombstone has something like that engraved into the rock.
I end today by taking a shower in the dark. I feel unsatisfied.
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