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This is a story I wrote last week. It isn't meant to have a begining or an end, it's just meant to be as it is, one memory in a person's mind.
Carla





A cemetery. You’d think that this is one of the darkest, saddest places one could go to, and yet … it was here that I saw the most beautiful thing.

We’d gone here to visit his friend. He had passed away some time ago, but those memories that kept my friend restless still lingered.

A sudden death. My friend blamed himself for it. It hadn’t been his fault, yet he still felt the need to blame someone for what had happened, so he blamed himself.

It was winter. The trees were naked, without one leaf in sight. The ground was covered with snow. Soft, gentle, pristine white.

My friend was wearing a white coat which would have made him disappear in that scenery, if it wasn’t for his hair, golden colored, reflecting even the slightest bit of light that crossed paths with him.

I was wearing black. I didn’t know this person who was no longer with us, but I wanted to pay my respects, so I chose this color.

Early morning. The sun had risen just a few moments before we had arrived.

Although we were in the middle of the city, all one could hear was the chirping of birds and the occasional sound of a passerby’s footsteps, calmly, slowly walking down the street.

Any other day I would have said that this was a city that never stopped. With everybody always hurrying without even taking the time to think, listen or to really see what was before them.

Today however, the city was quiet, solemn. It almost seemed like the city itself had stopped just for today. Just for this person who I didn’t get the chance to meet.

My friend carried a bouquet of flowers to put near the gravestone.

I had helped him choose which flowers to get and so I also carried one of these with me. I was holding it carefully, since it looked so delicate that I was afraid of ripping it if I held it with even the least bit more of strength.

We walked for a while. Passed by many people’s resting places. Walked on many paths. All to reach this small, white stone that shyly peeked out of the snow. A name could be read.

We stood there for some time. In a way it wasn’t as scary as I’d thought, but what happened then was something I would never have expected to see.

My friend, my lover. A person of strong character who hates to lose. Often I wonder what he is thinking. I’ve known him for years and I’m still unable to guess.

A bold person, a willful person, someone who always smiles and rarely shows people his real emotions.

A person that, in front of that stone, with nobody around but me, shed tears. He himself didn’t make a sound, yet his feelings were speaking loud and clearly.

A strange sight, yet astoundingly beautiful, as the death that had been shadowing him finally disappeared.

I decided to go back to the front gate and await him there, giving him some time alone to think about whatever needed to be thought and be finally free of this demon, this ghost from the past that had haunted him until then.

I stood at the gate for a few minutes, looking at the flower that was in my hands, before he finally returned.

It had started snowing.

The small snowflakes falling as if they were flower petals. The look of relief on his face. The sound of his voice asking me if I was cold. I wasn’t. The snow under my feet was cold, as was the one falling on us, as were the metals bars I was leaning against, but I didn’t feel cold because that breathtaking sight remained in my mind and in my heart warming me from within.

The snow, the trees, the silence, the dimly bright daylight, his tears. A scene I would never forget for as long as I lived.

My most precious memory of that winter we spent together.