I love to be alone.  Not always, not everyday, but sometimes I want to be utterly alone.  I don’t want to talk to anyone, I don’t want to see anybody. I want to feel separated from humanity, to be included in nothing except my own thoughts, feelings, impressions, and inspirations.  It has nothing to do with depression, anger, or disappointment.  Its not about love lost, betrayal, or bitterness.  It is that I simply like to be with only myself.

Its hard to be alone, to find solitude and peace in the active city.  More so with roommates whom are often home because you live in a cold, expensive city.  Fortunately for my lonely tastes, my backyard dead ends directly with the graveyard.  There is a tall concrete wall separating the world of the living with the damnation of the deceased.  Walk around the block, and on the other side is an entrance into a silent, distant world.  A life that is not visited by many living souls, a quite village, a silent dance party.  I can stroll a brief 10 minutes around the block and enter a world where I can find complete solitude in the middle of an early almost- warm spring day.  Trapped within the tall and cool concrete walls, even the sounds of the passing cars and stopping busses are muted.  So quickly and easily the city life is reduced to simply myself.  Within these silent walls I walk through all that remains of so many lives, the repayments of a history of people are boiled down to two dates, a slab of marble, and if you are lucky a short quote or if you are really lucky a giant, out dated statue.

The cemetery during the day does not provoke feeling of creepiness, danger, or uncertainty.  Exposed under watchful glare of father sun, the cemetery inspires serenity, introspection, and reflection.  The weight of the stones change the magnitude of oneself, challenges your notion of your place on history’s timeline.  Its impossible not to see your existence as just a snapshot in time.

Wandering alone, slightly cold, with my scarf wrapped all the way down my wrists, curling around my red fingers, I seek out the patches of sunshine, avoid the patches of shadow created by the old tall trees and the cold tall marble statues.  I find a small flowering tree.  Its branches reach down toward the ground and are speckled with tiny white flowers.  The tree is peaceful, serene, perfect in the graveyard.  So still and so beautiful.  Instantly, I want this to be a place for a ceremony of marriage.  I know that sounds creepy, but I just explained how its so perfect.