It’s a weird thing, walking though a graveyard. Even during the day, one in the middle of summer without a cloud in the sky, it’s hard to stop chills from running up your spine.

Sun will never change the fact it’s near impossible for me not to step directly over a pile of dead remains every few feet. Especially since I can never remember where bodies are buried in relation to the marker until I stumble across a fresh one.

I usually try to ignore all of that.

It even usually works. It’s just so hard not to be fascinated by the effort and money people throw behind monuments to people they’ll never see again.

One’s in the shape of a bench. I don’t know who decided that was a good idea. Do people often come to graveyards to sit in the sun or read a book? Did they worry the dead person might get tired of lying down?

Still, it’s probably a little stranger for me than you.

When I walk through a graveyard, I have to remember that it’s my fault all those people lay dead in the ground.