She stands alone, like many before her. Headstones sit in rows. They are all that is left of the people who never returned, and flowers litter the ground. The tears flow freely down her cheeks as she remembers. She remembers the times she laughed, the times when she loved them so much that she felt her heart would break into pieces if they ever left her.
They did leave her and her heart did break into pieces. They left her without a word of goodbye, without a warning. They left one evening and never came back and she was left to pick up the pieces of her broken heart. They tell her they died as heroes, they went down fighting. She doesn't care that they went down as heroes; she just wants them back by her side.
She wants to scream and most nights she does. She wakes up screaming from nightmares only to wake and find that she still is in a nightmare.
Every day she walks to the graveyard, she remembers, she breaks all over again and she tells herself that she shouldn't keep going back, it only opens wounds that are best left alone; but she still goes back every day.
She is not the only one, sometimes she sees others. They too are going through the same things she is. Once she even sees The Boy Who Lived, and she wants to go up to him, say something, but she is afraid that if she goes up to him she will just get angry at him and blame him for everything.
When she walks down the street, her heart weighed down with grief; people avoid her eyes. They are all heart-broken. Everyone has lost someone and they can't yet acknowledge their own grief let alone someone else's.
She is just another mourner.
Just another broken person.
Just another.