Sometimes, when I walk through the graveyard,
I look at all the gaves and I think about the fact that one day it will be my own gravestone, inscribed with my own name and that one day the moss will grow over it and my name will fade away. And I think about whether, when the end comes, I will be happy. I wonder about what I will regret, what I will be proud of. And I wonder what other people will think when I'm gone, how they will remember me, whether their lives will be different without me. And I keep thinking, I think about how one day all of those people will have their own graves until theres no-one left who remembers me. And I wonder whether people will look at that mossy, worn-out name on my crumbling gravestone  and wonder about who I was just as I wonder about them. And I wonder if one day there will be another girl, one who will look at these graves and think about death and the ordinary people who are steadily forgotten, just like I did, all those years ago.