Graveyard Valentine

o n e

14/02/2017

It's funny how sadness makes you do things; some cry, some eat, some exercise, some drink, some smoke, some fuck, some cut. We all have our individual ways of grieving.

The train station was a mile away from the graveyard, I didn't mind. I walked hand in hand with a bottle of opened vodka wrapped in a paper brown bag and three bouquet roses in the other hand. The cold night sky was twinkling with stars and the full moon light illuminating. Almost the most cliché night for valentines day; the snow had not fell yet.

The frost-laced grass crunched beneath my leather boots as I walked through the uneven patterns of gravestones and memorials to the other side. The majority of the graves were worn by the weather and their longevity whilst some were brand new.

I was drew nearer to the light where the swaying elm tree was and the park bench. It had been years since I last visited the graveyard,  I still had the creeps of graveyards, but the vodka eased her fear making her feel translucent.

I wondered I should've told my brother that she was here tonight and not on a 'romantic' date, but I knew they would stop me or accompany me.

It was 10:30, the graveyard was garrentered to be empty at this dark hour of the night so I could weep and cry in privacy, and the dead were the only ones that could hear, but evidently, someone had decided to ruin that.

The figure was tall, lean and definitely male. He stood at the end of my row of deceased, his head was bowed. His silhouette was too dark, exposing none of his facial features.

I ignored him, and he hadn't noticed he had company. The graves  I stood before we're still looking brand new and still shining temporarily. The moonlight reflected

'In Loving memory of Camila Charlotte Faye
2001-2012
A bright daughter, sister, and friend whose loving heart will be missed
Rest In Peace."

I stood in front of the first grave that read my sister memorial, i lowered her head then laid a bouquet of roses before her grave. The. I moved to the one beside her dear sister. My mother's.

"In Loving Memory Of Elenora Rose Faye
1970-2012
A Beloved Daughter, Mother, Sister, and Wife whose joy to the world will be missed
Rest In Peace"

I laid another one of the bouquets of roses leaving one last bunch, my father's. Tears were threating to fall, but she was not going to be vulnerable in the sight of another. I remembered that every valentines day, her father use to give her the first rose when she woke up, he sarcastically reminded her that she wasn't allowed a boyfriend until she was 30.

'In loving memory of Adam Micheal Faye
Faithful Son, Father, Brother and Husband
whose happiness will be missed
1970-2012
Rest In Peace"

I slumped onto the park bench next to the elm tree, the figure was still standing there, his head bowed. I didn't care if the figure could see her vulnerable any more. Tears began to row down my rosy cheeks, I opens the bottle of vodka again and sculling down a quarter of the bottle. I put down the bottle and hugged my legs leaving her gloveless hand freezing

I didn't drink often. Tonight was a special occasion. I didn't do drugs or anything illegal. It's my last year in high school, then I was planning on going to Yale and never ever coming back to this sorry town again, and I meant it this time.

After standing at the grave for an hour, the figure left the grave and walked towards the elm tree, where I was. The faint warm yellow light shone upon this face when he entered the light. His blue eyes glowed sadly, his cheeks tear stained, his jawline; sharp, his hair dark brown; messy. The vodka slowed her reactions, she realised who he still after five years. Asher Johnson.