Member-only story
Memories at a Cemetery
Leaving behind legacies
I stumble my way across the cemetery, hopeful to feel at one with myself as I walk through grave after grave, until I stumble upon yours. Your gravestone. Your burial. Your new place of residence. Your new home. Your spot in this world.
I hear the whispers from the others as I meander my way through the yard, eager to land my knees gently atop your permanent (but is anything truly permanent in this world?) residency. Shivers run up and down my spine the longer I give way to the swaying of the winds, intertwined with the memories of the ghosts lingering heavily in the airs surrounding me. No — consuming me.
I drop the rose I was carrying for you. And as it tumbles from my hand unto the dirty ground, the white petals turn ashen and then…black. Black like the writing on your tombstone, engraved with this:
A Life Measured in Memories.
Memories.
Memories carry the weight of this world, via experiences, nuances, perceptions, perspectives and so on. Memories also taint this world, creating mayhem and chaos and subtle tones of murder, halting time that would otherwise keep swinging on the pendulum inside my mind’s eye. Memories transform themselves into beauty, sorrow, fragility, annoyance, longing, belonging. Memories are trapped inside…
