I press my temple against the sandstone slab. The granite one. Marble. Limestone. Slate. Each one finds me with cut-up knees, kneeling and straining to hear the passage of hours in the rocks.

The engraving on each carves my face into sections. I feel threads of age pressed into my cheeks. Immutable welts of obsolescence. If I could read lifelines, would my visage be a litany of names? The faded monikers of those who shaped my life?

I wonder when they all passed from my attention. Where was I when this happened?
I am filled with the nonchalant dread of realization that I don't care. These are just names. Just people. Just irrelevant.

These were people I once called "friend". The sum-total of their worth now mentally marked with a commemorative chunk of stone.

12:08 a.m. - 2014-08-14