Ember
“ I love the cemetery. It’s quiet and peaceful—it’s the only place where I get a break from death. I loathe crowded places, crammed with voices and life. It hurts to be around life. People don’t understand how close death is, right over their shoulders, around the block, at the end of a street. It’s everywhere. And I’m the only one who knows where it’s hiding. I see death every day. But a cemetery is already dead.
The moon beams vibrantly tonight; it’s only a sliver away from being fu...ll. Dry leaves fall from the oak tree and the air smells crisp with autumn. Headstones entomb the ground and a light mist dews the grass. I lean against a tree trunk with my notebook propped open on my knee, and a pen in my hand. I scribble words that are important to me.
The cemetery is my sense of comfort, my sanctuary in a world of darkness, the one piece of light I have in my life.
I remove the tip of the pen from the page and read over my words.MoreLess
The moon beams vibrantly tonight; it’s only a sliver away from being fu...ll. Dry leaves fall from the oak tree and the air smells crisp with autumn. Headstones entomb the ground and a light mist dews the grass. I lean against a tree trunk with my notebook propped open on my knee, and a pen in my hand. I scribble words that are important to me.
The cemetery is my sense of comfort, my sanctuary in a world of darkness, the one piece of light I have in my life.
I remove the tip of the pen from the page and read over my words.MoreLess
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