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Gravestones and rings.

Alex.

I don't usually talk to stones.

Gravestones, to be exact.

But today, after almost seven years, I've decided to give it a try.

I've spent six years dreading coming here and avoiding it, rarely stopping by. I've spent six years fearing this place. Like it could force me to relive that day again. I've spent six years telling myself I didn't need to come here.

Maybe I was wrong.

Maybe I did need to come here. To see that stupid gravestone with my own eyes, to remind myself what happened. Not to torture me, but to remind myself there's nothing I can do to change the past. Perhaps facing a gravestone, knowing it will never transform into anything else, is the wakeup call I've needed all these years.

Even so, it's not going well.

It's going terrible.

I'm staring at the gravestone, rereading the name carved in the stone like a spell. Anger's boiling in my veins, yet I force myself to remain standing. I force my muscles to keep my feet here, and my eyes to take in the details. All of them.

From the colour of the stone to the size of the grave, to the beautiful fresh flowers in the vase and grave candles. To the beautifully polished grave with no dust or fallen leaves. And I wonder when she was last here.

I've never hated myself more than that night, and now. All those suffocating feelings attack me again. The memories come crashing in my mind, overlapping and terrorising me like a horror movie.

There's a block in my head that's stopping me from addressing the gravestone. It has always been there, ever since I remember. Ever since the hole in the ground was covered with dirt and the damn stone was put down.

I've never understood what point there is in talking to gravestones. It's never going to reply back and nor is it going to bring the dead ones back. Only later did I understand it's more of a healing for the ones left behind. Suppose it releases some stress, pain or guilt. Although none of these things are going to change anything.

I've tried it before, though. A couple of times. But no words ever left my mouth. I wanted to say so many things, but words failed me. They remained living in my head, safely tucked away from the world and eating me alive. Too many people have told me it's dangerous, but I like it. There's far more comfort in living in my own head than worrying about the outer world.

I've tried to find the understanding for those who talk to gravestones in me, but without any success. Whenever I've stumbled upon someone like that, I just always kept my mouth shut.

But today...

Over the past years too many things and emotions have been bottled inside of me. I've treasured all of them very carefully, but I think it's time to try to let some of them out. Or try at least.

I'm not going to pour my heart out now, don't get me wrong. If we look at it a bit like pouring your heart out to a stranger drunk in some bar at night, then at least talking to a gravestone means you are 'talking' to someone you knew.

I sit down on the bench and stare ahead of me. As always, it's very calm here. The dead won't disturb you; the living ones prefer noisy and crowded places. It's almost too calm and quiet to be real.

The longer I stare at the gravestone, the more I start to take in the subtle details of the marble. I'm not especially too proud to say this, but I don't look at death as something overly too tragic anymore. If my life would've turned out differently, I probably wouldn't be so sceptical about it. But after all the deaths I've had to deal with, I've learned how to turn my emotions off.