Just as the winters fog appears at dusk and is gone by dawn.
How often does one euthanise and put their essence to rest; a tragedy at best.
A graveyard of regrets; a garden of tombstones. Each engraved with the remnants of their own fleeting passions.
Each sealed in cheaply made wooden caskets placed in deep and shallow graves alike.
The urgency of banging in their deathly prisons can only be heard by those who’ve come to pay their respects.
My heart bleeds for those who’ve been reduced to burning embers, truly lifeless...
yet the memories warm to the touch.