I walked into the familiar graveyard. The sun had already set. I took in the sight to which I had grown accustomed to, after all I was visiting way too often. For me it was almost ironic how peaceful everything around this graveyard was, as it was located on the urban part of London. One could even argue that it was out of the city, surrounded by a beautiful forest, and you were able to hear the sounds of small birds flying around and talking amongst themselves.
I looked down at my feet which walked the very well used path. I knew this place like the palm of my hand and I hated that. The tombstones were a stark reminder of the sadness this place harbors. It very well reminded me that life is not always filled with happiness, but it led me to the belief that there was beauty in death. It was the last milestone from one's life.
My steps slowed as my breathing became shallow. Each time I visited this gravestone it dragged out the same reaction out of me, which later always made me question if humans are prone to remember sadness more than happiness. My throat became tighter and I looked at the name on which was written on the stone 'Michael Wilson'. Brief anger took over me, but it was quickly replaced by sadness. It had been 10 years since he had lost his life on the front.
I knelt beside the grave as I pulled out a small cake and a candle. I slowly put the candle on it as I brought my lighter out and lit it. I watched how the beautiful flame danced around shining more light on the old stone. I gulped down trying to ignore the huge ball of sadness in my throat, "Happy, 36 birthday, Michael." I said in an almost whisper-like manner. I often stayed here and spoke to Michael's stone, and I was going to do that for the rest of the day. I looked up at the sky and wondered which star he was, because I knew he was somewhere up there, watching me from above.