He arrived earlier than expected, and as he stood at the gates to the cemetery, he wondered aloud if he should enter. There was no one there to answer his query, even the crows seemed to have left him alone to solve the problem. Taking a deep breath, he put one foot in front of the other and in no time at all found himself standing before an empty patch of grass. He was befuddled; was there not supposed to be a marker of some sort here? Looking around at the vast rows of polished granite and marble, the swatch of green lawn he was standing on seemed woefully out of place. Perhaps he was at the wrong destination. Quickly checking his papers, he realized that he was where he was supposed to be. Not one to enjoy idle time, he fancied himself a walk around the grounds; hopefully by the time he returned everything would be in order for his arrival. Taking a leisurely stroll around the expansive lot, he noticed the artistry that went into the monuments were quite intricate. Delicate carvings and introspective engravings found his eye wherever he turned. He noticed that he was relaxing; the troubles of his youth seemed so trivial now. How could one be anxious amongst all these pillars of devotion and remembrance? When he made his way back to whence he came, he hardly cared at all that he was tossed high with the breeze, floating along the tops of the Maple trees, flying forever with the crows whom so gallantly picked him up and helped him find his way.


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Just a guy writing about how depression sucks.

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