The cold stone planted in the ground.
The wet grass surrounding the freshly dug area.
The soft dirt traveling six feet deep, and deeper.
The howling wind wanting to brush my face, but feeling nothing.
The cries of others wishing they could wake me from my eternal slumber.
The date of my first day carved indefinitely.
The date of my final day is placed beside it.
The deadname wrongly given, engraved eternally but never having sounded quite right.
The word ‘Daughter’ lasting forever, but never having felt like it quite fit.
My worst fear is to die with the wrong name on my tombstone.
My worst fear is to be buried and remembered wrong.
To not be remembered as me.