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It is morning hours and he walks by itself. The iron gates, crusted with rust, clang in his wake. Fog washes over the tombstones in waves. His foot crunch upon the bottom. The fog obscures his eyesight, but he could walk right here blindfolded. This trip to the cemetery has turned into a routine, anticipated however, not enjoyed. The decision of a loon sails through the milky surroundings; the audio ripples along his backbone. He onward walks, head forced down, eye riveted to the bottom. When he discovers himself prior to the tombstone, something differs. A brand new spray of roses provides been laid upon the grave. Kneeling down, a finger is operate by him along one rose, the blossom curling with existence. Pale petals drenched in dew, leaves like wax, thorns defiant and jagged. His eyes search the grave for a trace of the new intruder. He's curious but miffed; he previously believed himself to end up being the just visitor here. He felt a feeling of belonging with the grave, as if his own name ought to be scrawled beneath that of the deceased. He wants that he previously felt nearer with the fleshless creature right now sheltered within the grave. That they had been friends and nearly lovers, united as one nearly, all of the fragments fitting together - but the duration of time tore them in two. Where life has failed them, death is even more skilled infinitely; it brings them close unbearably. He brushes a hand over the tombstone, his fingertips tingling upon the engraved lettering. The true name. The epitaph, banal and meaningless. The dates of birth and loss of life - dates too close jointly for comfort, dates that mix murmurs in passersby. How tragic. Poor boy, to die so young. Those that had cared to learn him never said therefore, only the strangers. Light peeks through the skyвЂ™s gray latticework dawn. Sunlight awakens.