I stumbled on an old cemetery the other day and began walking around, looking at all of the gravestones. Some of them are very old; others are within the past ten years. This one is one of the mystery ones- no one knows who is buried there or when they died. It’s… It’s very sad to me. Whoever this was meant a lot to someone. It was someone’s child, maybe someone’s sibling, maybe someone’s lover, maybe someone’s parent. We just don’t know.
I’m not afraid to die. I’m afraid of what I’ll be leaving behind; all of my family and friends and my hopes and dreams. I’m afraid of someday, when a girl or a boy like me will look at my grave and think the same things I think now… “Who was this person?”
On that slightly depressing note, I hope I live for another fifty-some years.