Eight Portraits of a Lady

She can feel the flowers' cool stems within the circle of her fist. She doesn't want to let go of them. Not because they're pretty, but because if she brings flowers to the grave then it will all be real. It was hard enough watching them lower her into the ground, hard enough just to cry and not demand that they stop.

"I'm sorry I haven't visited," she says, knows what the response would be.

She's with the Lifestream now. It's not like visiting here, the gravesite, is really visiting her.

"I still love you," she says, hoping she hears.