I go to the old haunted graveyard.
I walk amongst the graves.
Sometimes, somehow, I come by yours.
But I see not you, just your grave.
Many pass by your grave.
But only I knew what lay 6 feet under.
How you looked. How you felt.
How you lived. How you loved.
I loved you. You were the best I ever had.
You still are.
You do not reveal yourself to me.
When I am there, you are just a silent grave.
Talking to you is like talking to myself.
You who I loved is dead.
Sometimes, when I watch you grave from the shadows,
I see your ghost appear to join the ghostly party.
But the moment I appear is when you disappear.
Where did you go? Can’t you appear to me?
Can you really be dead?
You’ve become just a memory.
A memory dwelling in my heart.
You were someone to me
Not just any dead person in a grave.