I watched in guilty silence feeling like an uninvited voyeur as an elderly woman slowly tucked a folded missive under the vase on a flat headstone. As our eyes met, I felt her thoughts. The wheels of time keep churning, turning days and months to years till the days become a lifetime and still we miss the ones who are gone. Like a bucket with a hole the sands of love sift through, yet the cold granite at our feet belies the warmth yet in our hearts and the words etched there below, like dry ice, burn the soul. After the old woman left, I felt compelled to read her words: "I’ll always love you. I hope you like the roses"
and I cried.