The Good Memories
I stood at a corner, looking sadly at my grandpa’s grave.
The friends and relatives who had come to pay their respects were talking among themselves.
“He departed this world without troubling anyone,” said an old man I didn’t know.
“True,” another agreed, “I remember he always smiled. That made me smile too.”
“Grandma told us he was very mischievous as a child,” said Mom, remembering.
No one noticed me. And I couldn’t think of any reason they would. My life so far had been invisible.
“It’s good to make good memories,”
Aunt Sarah opined.
I walked away, agreeing silently.
(© 13th November 2015)