a short sad story

I walked to the rural graveyard late one windy night to mourn the loss of a loved one. Finding the grave, I sat down on the cold ground.

What terrible tragedy.  Poor girl, she died at age 23.  Poor, gentle creature.  So young.

I close my eyes.

Was the connection we shared severed by her death?

Why did I go on living these many years?

Time passes.  The wind comes up.

What?!  Is that a spectre, beckoning to me, that I see?

No, it must be the silvery, bluish-white light of the full moon, streaming through the swaying branches of the dead trees, dancing upon the gravestones.

My hand wipes away the warm tears as I continue weeping.

Copyright 2014 – larrysmusings.com