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How I Found Meaning In A Cemetery During My Post-Divorce Nihilism

This is for the weary souls who are unsure if anything really matters anyway.

Jordin James
Know Thyself, Heal Thyself

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Photo by shahin khalaji on Unsplash

After my divorce, my bones feel restless. Unsure of themselves. Exhausted to the marrow yet burning to move to satisfaction.

But there is no satisfaction. There is just…I don’t know what there is — but my bones ache for it nonetheless.

“You’re longing for something you’re not sure exists,” says my new boyfriend.

And I tell him he’s right.

“Is that a cemetery?” I ask, staring into the darkness from the passenger seat, “Can we pull in?”

I don’t know why I wanted to stop, but it felt so right to have my hands in my pockets, wandering around the tombstones dotting the small plot of land.

It was the most pathetic cemetery I’d ever seen.

Not even large enough to need pathways or pavement — just a heap of grass on the side of the road in a small town that nobody cares about except for the people who live there.

I felt sorry for the poor souls who were buried here in this boring-ass cemetery. I wondered if they even knew the…

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