Why I Drove There in the Dark

The gates weren't locked. That's what surprised me—

how easy it was to go somewhere you're not supposed to be.

The gravel crunched under my shoes

like I was breaking something.

Each step announced itself.

Headstones glowed. I didn't know stone could do that—

how the moon could make marble look almost alive,

almost warm. Almost like they were still here.

The quiet was a pressure. Not peaceful.

The kind of quiet that makes your own breathing

too loud.

I walked until I didn't recognize where I was.

Stood between two names and felt nothing.

That was the worst part. Not sadness.

Not even the cold.

The fact that I could be here, in a place like this,

and still feel completely alone.