“It’s the little things that I miss most about you,” I sniffled, wiping at my nose, and shuffling my feet. “Like having to help you find your belt, or your car keys. I’ve even taken to leaving your favourite fedora in random places around the house. It helps make me feel like you’re still here, like you’re still with me.” I touch the headstone lovingly, the pad of my thumb moving over the slick marble. It’s only been 3 months. The weather hasn’t had a chance to scar and dimple the surface of the rock as yet. But I know that I’ll be back here, every month, tracking the passage of time by how many pockmarks are on the surface of the stone. By how long it takes to obscure the letters and numbers marking your exit from my existence.
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