Finally

I was enjoying the company of the lifeless while killing off a few of my own limited cells when I realized how temporary everything is.
This depression, that feeling of elation, every touch that can only linger for so long until it's gone.
Everything goes away.
All of these boxes now full of dirt and bones were once just like me. Living, loving, lingering until one day it all ended.
Did they want to be remembered like this, by some wretch who just happens to wander past them while smoking a cigarette for the first time in five months?
Doubtful.
My own existence mocked by overturned granite and faded surnames.