It's not even the construction workers' radio blaring or the dog walkers casually pacing. I'm not bothered by the birds beginning their departure, or the mourners contemplating their own. It's all of them combined.

Every sound sets me off, every life seems to annoy me. I can't even find escape in the deadest place I could think of, since the cemetery feels especially crowded today.

It's the leaves. They scatter and fall around me, quite the opposite of me: while they are technically alone, they always have each other, in life and in death, and even now as they surround me, breathing their last breath, they still dance filled with life as if death can be cheated.

While I truly have so many caring people in my life, somehow the empty feeling of being alone is inescapable. The leaves so innocent and timeless. But all they can remind me of is the fine line destitute between loneliness and solitude.

The cycle of birth and death never-ending. I sit here pondering on my vain vague thoughts: No matter how surrounded I am, I'm always truly lonely.

Even when I search for it, encircled by these bodies past and present, I try to picture my future. Yet even when I search for it, I can never ever truly be alone. Is that something I really want?

Not until I'm buried here will I ever truly know peace.