hehehehe! The third in a series. Once again sadness abound!

She visited this cemetery often. The tombstone in front of her was an all too familiar sight. Every chip, every crack, she had memorized.

It was a familiar sight to see her aswell. Everyday at the exact same time. I watched her most days, standing over a plain tombstone. She was young, only 19 at the oldest. Her bright blue eyes were always clouded with tears, her pouty peach lips in a straight line, her brown hair framing her face. She always wore a brown leather waistcoat, no matter what else she was wearing. Today she was wearing a old pair of jeans with holes in the knees, a black tee and that waist coat.

She has a packet of cigarettes held in her small hand. She smokes one, everyday then puts the rest of the packet on the grave, open, as if to say 'here take one'.

I looked at the name once. Lance Alvers he died 2 years ago, the same amount of time as that girls been coming. Below his name it has 'beloved friend, leader, brother and lover, we will miss you Lance.'

I'm guessing she's the sister or lover of him. Judging by the way she kissed her finger tips then pressed them to the grave stone, its the lover.

She's lit the cigarette and took a draw with a shakey hand, tears spilling down her face as she exhaled. I can here her speak to the grave stone in a light and sweet voice, almost like you would expect a fairy princess to have. But it was laced with sorrow and hurt.

"Lance, baby...I miss you...why did you leave?"
She fell to her knees, the cigarette hanging from her lips.
For the first time she spoke to me.
"He was my first love."
I jumped.
"I know you've been wondering who I am too him. We were in love. I still am."
"I'm sorry..."
"Who do you visit?"
"My wife."
She looked at me and her eyes shone.
"Tell me about her."
"Well, when she was younger, she looked almost exactly like you. But her eyes were green. She loved animals. This is a picture." I handed her a faded photo from my wallet. It was black and white, taken when she was about 20, the day we married.
"You had a very beautiful wife." Her voice was misty. "This is Lance."
She handed me a picture of a handsom boy, around 18 with dark hair and eyes, wearing an outfit much like hers today. He was behind a younger picture of the girl very girl I was talking to, his arms around her shoulder, both smiling, hers was a beautiful smile, one I'd never seen on her peachy lips.
"You both look very happy."

"We were. He was the most romantic guy ever." She smiled, remembering and for that single moment, the one moment she smiled at me, I wasn't the 68 yearold man with shocking white hair, needing a cane to help me around. I was a 20 yearold man with a kick in my step. Her smile was identical to my wifes.

"How?"
"He was attacked by some anti-mutant activists."
It was then I noticed the 'M' tattoo on her temple.
"So he was..."
"A mutant. Yes."
"What about your wife?"
"Terminal Brain Cancer. She didn't even tell me. Doctors did. They said she-" My breath hitched as tears came to my eyes, she noticed because she looked at me, her eyes that I once thought were bright blue were actually a milky colour, not unlike my own, though mine were due to my sight going, her's natural. "They said she didn't want to worry me. Said that I shouldn't have to deal with her problems."

"She sounds like a great woman." Her voice was thick. The cigarette in her hand had burned half way down, and she took another draw, exhaling after a few moments. "I don't smoke really."
I looked at her shocked.
"This is the same brand Lance used to smoke. When I smoke them it's like i'm tasting his kisses, his skin. He always smelled of this smoke. And I leave a pack on his grave, because...no, you'll think it's stupid." She looked down.
"Try me."
"Well...I think that if he sees the packet...maybe he'll come and get them, and maybe I'll be here when he does, just to see him again. I know it's stupid and he won't but it makes me feel like he's closer. He loved these cigarettes. He always said I was his first love, his guitar was his second and his cigarettes were his third. I used to joke saying I was his second and his guitar was his first...I knew it was a lie. He loved me more than anything...look at me i'm rambling." She sighed.
"No. I like it. You remind me of my wife so much...she had the same passion you have."
"I have no passion anymore." She whispered softly. "I haven't ever since he died."
"You have passion." I placed a wrinkly and liver spotted hand on her slim shoulder, feeling the bones easily. "You just can't find it. I see you here everyday, and I can see that you have passion. No matter what you do, you have passion. You can't help it."
"Have you ever thought about...joining her?" Her voice held a childish innocence I couldn't help but smile at.
"Lots. But that's not what my darling Camilla would want. And I'm sure your young man won't want it either. We need to live for them."
"I don't know if I can for much longer. 2 years without him and I still can't move on. I haven't been on a date since. I only leave for college. Sometimes the mall, but that holds to many memories. God he was a Smart-ass, ice cold, flirty, smoking swearer, he couldn't dress to save himself, he was cynical, handsome, loving and oh so, stupidly and adorably stubborn. Danger was written on him like a bright neon blinking sign. He annoyed me so much and I couldn't trust him worth a lick those first few times. Then suddenly in a burst of anger I WANTED HIM. It was so stupid. I felt like a sucker, one cute thing, granted it was saving my life, but I fell for him." She smiled faintly.

This girl was special. I could tell. She had the wisdom of someone twice her age, in those large eyes, and had the hurt of it aswell. She pushed her hair away from her face. She looked childish. It was strange that she could have the soul of someone so much older than her, but the looks and manerizums of a young child. I felt like if I offered her a lolly pop I would be able to make her smile.

"Did you ever get over her? Ever marry again?"
I sighed, knowing this question was coming.
"No. It was 19 years ago. I never felt like I had a chance. But you...you do. You come here everyday. I've seen you. I've watched you thinking 'What is this girl doing, wasting her life in this place?', and untill today I didn't know. But what I did know is, that whoever you came to see everyday would want you too move on, but not forget them, keep them in your heart but don't use it all up for them, find another love."
"I can't. I love Lance. I'm never going to love again." She shook her head stubbornly.
"You're young. You'll love again." I smiled wearily.
"No I won't. I said he was the only one for me and I ment it. I promised I would be fateful to him, and I'm staying that way."
"What about children?" I asked and she crossed her arms, the cigarette long forgotten, lying on the grass.
"I'm not having children, not with anyone but Lance and since he's not going to give me them, well...I'm not having them."
"Child, you have to move on. Lance would want it."
"But its so hard!" She sobbed, her bony shoulders shaking. "Ever since he died, i've not eaten well, slept well, I've even quit my dance classes. He used to watch me dance...he said-" She hicupped. "He said I moved with the grace and poise of an angel. He used to call me Angel..."
"And you are, but right now you're a fallen angel looking for a path." I recited something I'd once written in college.
"He was my path." The words came out feeble and timid. I lifted her chin to I could see her eyes.
"And Camilla was mine."
Her lips broke into a smile and she wiped away her tears.
"Thanks you." She whispered standing up and kissing my cheek, her lips just as soft as my wifes. With that she walked down the gravel path of the cemetery, the wind blowing her hair just like it did Camillas.
And in a last thought, before she walked out of sight, I wondered if she was, possibally, Camilla in another form. Sent down from heaven to help me, the way I'd helped her.
A true Angel.

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