She sets her little wooden chair next to the grave of her beloved and after a session of sighs and tears, she starts reading from the book he once loved. Fresh chrysanthemums adorn his grave, filling me with jealousy. Sometimes, I wish someone comes to sit for a moment next to my grave.
I know that the girl I loved is dead, but she never came to see me. Some people do have it all, eh?
I feel sorry for the girl. She needs to move on, after all her man keeps hanging out near the grave of that supermodel.
Word Count: 100
Written in response to the picture prompt provided by Randy Mazie for the weekly Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff – Fields.
Please find other entries here.