Our Little Graveyard

September 30, 1999

If I had known she was going to die I would have let go of my bitterness. Since 1995, I have been soul searching endlessly looking through trash barrels, climbing mountain tops, swimming the ocean bottoms, trekking through sandy deserts and studying the star-filled skies. It is a lifelong journey but I have come quite a way in four years. We learn as we grow and we grow as we learn and if I had known then what I know now I would have…

September 23 came and went unnoticed to all but me. Some things I keep preserved in my thoughts. It’s like a promise to myself to get extremely depressed on this day. My best friend died on a Saturday morning on September the twenty-third, and each year I live another year I will forever hold this date frozen in my time capsule. Remembering your face when you found something outrageously funny places a smile on my lips as tears invade my eyes. Remembering the times we sat under the bridge that connects Atascocita to Huffman talking about the songs we would like to have played at our funerals gives me a clear perspective of irony, but none of your songs were played. I saw your little sister take the podium and read letters that you had written to her despite the fact that you both lived in the same household. Her words were blurred but she made it through like you knew she would. I saw your dad greeting people at the door and he looked me straight in the eye but then looked past me when I smiled. He always hated me didn’t he? This year I spent the day at work listening to old CD’s that you and I had personally picked to be the top five on the billboard. I wanted nothing more than to walk out the doors of that office and drive down to our bridge where we spent the afternoons of our youth, but I didn’t. The floods have long ago washed away the art of our spray paints but no bother for we left our mark on every living breathing thing, and you will always exist in me.


Author: Lindsay Niemann

Writer | Graphic Artist