drmstream[writing]

When you walk into a grave­yard, there is nobody there. There is no sud­den rever­sal of time, no enlight­en­ing con­se­quence of the human mys­tery unwound by a talk­ing head­stone, or a friendly ghost, or a time switch that leaves you snug­gled against your grand­mother dur­ing a rag­ing bliz­zard. You can’t turn the cor­ner of the grave­yard lane and be swept away by the dri­ving snow, unsteady against the drifts that rise over your head, and you can’t knock as loud as you can against the girl-down-the-street’s front door, wait­ing for her to look sur­prised and excited. You can’t make the car stop when it hits the embank­ment and crushes her chest against her heart. When you walk into a grave­yard you can only invite time to play tricks with you, you can only slow the music in your heart and drift back against the quiet of your mem­o­ries, the ones that you never wanted to end, the ones that you never hoped to let go, the ones that brought you back on this still sum­mer evening, hop­ing that you could live them again.