Graveside memoirs

The ghost of a woman waits for her husband to join her


3. Part three

She finally saw his greying scalp, bobbing up the side of the hill.

She smiled.

But he was crying.

He settled down the irises from the garden he was carrying in the crook of his elbow, by the tree, by her tombstone.

The tombstone didn’t really exist, not anymore, not to her, but it would continue to serve as a barrier between them, a monument of their separation.

“I’ve missed you, I’ve been missing you for a long time now,” he would sob.

Although he was looking right at her, he could only stare straight through. That was when she understood, that she would never be able to comfort him like this.

But she spoke despite herself; even knowing her words be unheard by the living. She feared losing them herself.

“Don’t worry, we won’t have to wait any longer your almost there, almost with me”

And one day he was.

He had found himself on the hill top; there was no grave any longer, no dates, no years nor events setting them apart.

It was comforting to see him so well.

He fitted himself round her, pulling her into a grateful embrace; it held the weight of many years

Her breath was stolen as she finally understood the burden that he had been living with since her absence, as it lifted, as it turned to dust.

He had been waiting for so long, so had she,

It was sweet like their lives had been.

Like it continued to be.

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