Soft, gentle, spring rain beats down on the already soaken green grass. Tombstones in perfect rows look like they're in a watercolor painting because of the blurry edges the rain creates.
     A woman walks amongst the graves, her barefeet tickled by the grass. She walks slowly and determinedly, a wilting white lily clasped gently in one of her hands.
     Her long flowing lilac cotton dress is just as soaked as the grass and sways heavily about her ankles as she walks. She stops every few feet looking- not because she is looking for someone, that she knows is lost.
     She finally comes to a final stop, falling to her knees in front of one certain stone.
     The tears that run down her cheeks are undistinguishable from the rain.
     Gently she places the lily at the foot of the stone, her hands drawn up to her face to pointlessly wipe away the water from her face.
     She comes here every day. Sunshine or rain. To remember. Remember those lost to her. Remember what she can't get back.
     Not able to let go...