The Heart of a Cemetery

By definition, a cemetery lacks liveliness.

Although haunting to walk past,

the ground remains dormant.

Chilling stillness.

Cracks in the stone deepen and gather moss.

Although, it’s even more haunting is to see life 

gathered among the dead.

To know breaths are taking place,

in an area dedicated to those who’s lungs are filled with dirt.

To see a crowd of people mourning

as someone is returned to the earth. 

They’ll be gone soon enough, 

leaving the soil to absorb its new addition.

A cemetery grows but it is not alive. 

It has flat lined and yet

is resuscitated by the lingering memories

held by countless loved ones.

It’s the epitome of dead,

but it’s so very much alive. 



I can put my phone down beside my bed and pull my two layers of blankets up over my shoulders, rolling over until I face the wall becoming so content and ready for sleep. But as soon as my phone lights up and I know it’s you, I’ll take the chance of being restless just to see what you have to say. Because time spent on you is much more comforting.



(via do-not-humpme)

(via stephaniebreeze)