I’m standing here silently looking at your headstone. It’s raining today, or is it just still raining? I listen as the rain drops touch down and disappear into the grass that blanket the earth which covers your crypt. It’s cold. The damp air creeps down my neck in behind my jacket. I pull it tighter around my body as if it will keep out the moist air. I don’t feel any different today. You know how everyone always says time will heal, who are they kidding? Most of them have never lost anyone to something so stupidly senseless and violent; something that has no justifiable or worthwhile cause. What do they know?