In the past couple of weeks I've seen elderly men who, from a distance, resembled my granddad. Today I went to visit his grave. They finally put the plaque in. I saw his name, engraved, the Sacred Heart and Blessed Virgin on opposite sides. And for some reason, this made me cry.
Before, his name was in removable rubber letters on a silver name plate with the name of the funeral home on top. It was small and temporary. This was it. This is it. I guess there was, and maybe even is, a little part of me that think this is all just a joke. Or a test. Like the next time I visit his grave, his name won't be there. Instead it'll read CONGRATULATIONS. Then someone in a black suit and dark sunglasses will approach me and tell me that I've passed. I am now emotionally ready to work for a secret agency as a spy. After this, they'll tell me to go to my grandparents house, where my granddad will be sitting in his chair, watching tv.
He's the one person I want to talk to right now, and I can't.
I hate everyone a little bit today. Even when I runaway, I can't get away.
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