I was lost. All that I had hoped for was taken away from me.

The sky seemed to have fallen. My body ached.
I walked to the cemetery past the tombs and obelisks that I had loved for years alone, their whiteness and grayness admist the greeness of the grass and trees seeming to caution me from what I knew not.

The manager of the cemetery, a silent man with a black beard lived in a quiet cottage by the southern gate. I decided to speak to him. I stepped inside and there he was at a table apparently doing his taxes or some other work. There were large photographs of large obelisks framed above his dark head. He looked up. His eyes seemed confused.
'Do you have work?' I asked. 'Anything at all?'
He shuffled the papers and then stared at the ceiling for some time. He seemed confused. Then he cleared his throat.

'Please get out,' he said pointing to the door. 'And don't come back to this cemetery.'

"But this is a public cemetery" I said.

"No, it is certainly not," he said. "I don't want to see you here again."