The tears collected in the corners of his stormy eyes,
pooling, leaking down the worn crevices of his face
and resting on the bottom of his withered chin
where they slowly dripped onto the moth-
eaten brown suit he wore.
Clutched in his bony fingers was a note, faded and worn
from years of folding and holding and reading.
The spidery scripture was barely legible
and ended in a heart and a simple signature.
It was an apology, for not being able
to be there in the end of it all.

He placed the note under a rock in front of the slab of granite,
and kneeled, muffling his sobs with one hand and clutching
the slab with the other.

How pointless life seems when the one you love is nothing but
bones under 7 feet of earth.