Sea of Graves

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Sea of Graves

Wandering through the sea of graves, we chat about the familiar
names that you might’ve known; and then you ask me to check on the
internet if they’re still alive. And then I ask you, “Did you bang
these old, deceased, rigor mortis-bonered men?”
And you replied full of wit, “If I slept with them, they’d still
be alive wanting more.”

“How many people do you think are dead in here?” Rose asks.
I reply, “Maybe a couple thousand,” quickly to be interrupted by,
“They’re all dead! It’s a cemetery.” And then followed by a cackle
that infectiously lights up my face like a metastatic love-cancer,
that consumes my whole body; grateful to have this moment in the
graveyard – with the one who’s, in age, so much closer to death
than I, and yet so fearless and courageous.

We overlook the library of the dead, only to find happiness; a
joke to what life truly is: a meaningless existence when all is
said and done, with the soul purpose, only to make the living
laugh with lucid memories and to make the dead roll over in their
graves.

I cherish the moments in the graveyard.

“Make sure they cremate me, they’ll never get my eyebrows right.”
And even though hearing it more than once, I cherish that phrase
despite knowing the meaning behind it – losing you. But only you
can make losing you into a joke and seem absolutely meaningless
and ever so beautiful.

As you always say, “Life goes on.”

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