today you visited my grave.
been a long time since you were last here, it brought me to tears.
i thought you would bring your fiance, but you came alone.
you didn't bring flowers.
maybe because you know the corpse of the phalaenopsis you left was still there,
laid across my tombstone,
lost amongst the overrunning crabgrass, broadleaf plantain and dandelions.
you burned joss paper by my marker,
cleaned out the ash stray and lit a new incense stick.
you rooted out the weeds and murmured a prayer as you dug up the earth,
reaching the brittle ash that was once my bones.
we watched green money and yellow houses and crimson cars crumbled in the fierce fire,
watched black smoke shimmered skyward, tainting the pure teal into a dirty cobalt shade.
the harsh eastern wind chipped and weathered the final bits of my coffin.
sands and grimes smeared my name, my date of birth and date of death,
until the letters and numbers engraved on the polished granite were nothing but primal etches.
you hadn't cried till then,
your jagged shadow casted upon the uneven ground, where the scorching summer sun cracked open the soil i was buried under.
the dirt must have gotten into your eyes,
because i wasn't the type to be remembered by.
i knelt by your side,
listening to your soft sighs,
my head pressed against the trembling spot at the top of your spine.
back when i was alive, i'd have minded.
comforting others wasn't my forte. i tried.
somehow, i managed just fine, even if it was too late to be kind.
it was nice to do at least one thing for you before i truly died.