I remember that Tuesday evening after I had died 7months 2weeks and a day earlier, you came visiting my wary grave. The wind had just blown softly, gathering the dry leaves. I could hear the rattling of their rusty edges, the sun must have been harsh the season before.
I heard your thumping feet approaching my grave. I felt you right above me, only I was six and half feet beneath you. Something leaped in me. I wanted to touch your feet, to hold it from leaving like you always did. That would have been selfish of me.
Now I just look forward to your comings and enjoy the tears that I never shed for each time you leave me.
Sometimes, it is the rain that sends you home quickly before you wanted to. Some jealous rain, I think.
The next time you come here, do leave me a letter scribbled on the surface of my home, my grave yard.
Love,
Me.
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