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