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What am I doing here again, visiting your grave? I thought you were well buried, but I heard a song that reminded me of you, so here I am, talking to a ghost. I can feel old sparks being rekindled by my imagination. I can see memories flashing before my eyes, like stars lighting up the dark. Because there are so many traits about you that I have not forgotten yet. Your eyes, your smile, the way we laughed, and how you walked. I know I am just a fool who bought your good-priced love. I should have forgotten you and our high school story, but your grave still looks so attractive to me. Is it too crazy to question your death? Because, what if I dig in your grave and I find nothing? What if you have never been buried? What if I have been visiting all these years just an empty grave? What if your funeral was a show for me to believe you were dead when you were not?

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