Remember the old times

A gentle breeze caresses me as I walk past the graves of the ones long dead. I come here often. The silence helps me think, and while I am at it, I often pay my regards to ones who are no longer with us.

This is where I love to sit. It is a quiet corner under this large tree, right next to my wife's grave. She was a good woman and I miss her. And I hate missing her, because there is nothing I can do about it. Just sit here and remember the good old times. Write poetry about it and then weep a little.

She was beautiful. More beautiful than the rest. Now look at her. Enclosed in the box of hers, her flesh rotting away. I have wondered if I would want to look at her now, even if she did decide to come out. I think I'd rather just remember her as she always was. The young, beautiful woman who captured my heart and made me fall head over heels for her.

I am not so handsome now. But I used to be when I was younger.  I had a wonderful youth, courted women, enjoyed myself and then I found her. It was the finest moment of our lives. It was love at first sight. I wooed her and after months of persistence, I got her. The most handsomest of men with the most beautiful of women, and she really was. The perfect figure enclosed in the finest of robes.The softest of skins with the most beautiful hair you can imagine.

It is a good thing that we never grew old together.  We enjoyed our youth together, in throes of passion that her beauty evoked in me. Those were the best days of my life, and I remember them every day. After her death, I mourned for a while but then threw myself into finding some beauty that could substitute for what was gone. I found none. No one could match up to the standards that she had set in my mind. I lived a lonely life.

And I sit here and write about it. Fantasize about my days of love-making.

It is close to midnight. I have been her for many hours now. I will need to leave before the clock strikes 12. This is when the place gets scary. I quickly hurry away to the other side of the graveyard. The air is getting colder and sending shivers down my hunchbacked spine.

I quickly find the large stone. I move it to find the hole that has been my grave for more than a century now. I enter it and close the stone door. Outside I can hear the rest walking and somewhere in those noises, I can hear her crying and calling out my name. I pretend to not hear.

The End

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