Remembering Autumn

Slapshes of burnt oranges and yellows painted the leaves as they fell delicately onto their new earthly canvas: the sidewalk was hidden underneath the ocean of leaves, and the wind whistled a soft tune. Each person has a story to tell, I thought, when unfamilar faces swormed past me as I made my way through the hastiness crowd, some more willing to share, and some more less to speak upon the subject. My story was nothing special just a series of unfortunate events to afflictive to share, so I assume I dIdn't fit into either category.

I watched as my fragile feet walked down the broken path to the cemetery, nerves filled my stomach and pain flushed my blood. I entered the cemetery grave, and my eyes gazed on the rows upon rows of once white, now moonlit gray. Gravestones stand at attention, waiting for a dearest love who never comes. These ghostly stones that signify the once lived being laying underneath, never drill, never stand at ease, they are never dismissed; no, they must stand in for those who can no longer appear. Some have been standing so long, they slowly sink, the very earth eroded from under their feet.

Here and there, these forgotten ones lean against each other, hoping to feel noticed. Once in a while, there will come from across the seemingly endless ranks and then, unreleting , the silent stillness pours back in the form of fog, re-taking the higher ground so recently disturbed. If fog had a sound, it would be this: a muffled disconnection from color, from life, from light. I didn't want to imagine, his innocent face, buried six feet under this alarming place that spoke of more than lifeless corpses.

 The scene spoke of regret, guilt, unreachable love, hate, rage, and unanswered questions, which also spoke my feelings. One by one, I passed through the gravestones, leaving most unread, until I was standing infront of his. I looked down upon the words, as they looked up at me, I read them aloud like it was their first time being read. My heart knew those words more than the stone that held them. "Kale Tyler, A boy filled with love, May you rest in peace, and let your soul be free," and as I read the lines, I realized there was a few words left unwritten, the words that confessed my love for him.