Till Death Do Us Part…From Our Next Marriage
Sometimes I’m envious of the dead
Surrounded by death, I finally felt at peace.
A strange emotion took root as I slowly walked, blossoming along with the flowers left at grave markers and mausoleum doors.
Pushing the feeling aside, I looked through the broken glass window of a neglected vault, streaks of light unable to cut through cobwebs cast hard shadows. Cracked stone and dirt littered the floor by a disheveled casket. Other caskets, stacked to the ceiling, displayed similar signs of pilfering.
That or the former occupants escaped under a previous full moon.
Not all of the mausoleums were in disrepair. Many were pristine. Stained glass warmed interiors with streaks of pink and blue. The color both soothing and vibrant against a world of grayscale. Inside, busts of men and women. Outside, relief carvings and statues of loving couples, forever together until the end of time (or until they too escaped).
The strange emotion swelled again, this time stronger. Its invisible pedals sprouting from within. I knew as long as I remained in Buenos Aires’ Recoleta Cemetery, the feeling would not fully fade.
The feeling of envy.
