She yawned, opening her eyes. As always, all she saw was black. She lifted her hands and pushed on the clump or grass, dirt, and dead flowers above her head. It easily opened and she sat up, her back popping the whole way.

At the same time, he was doing it too. He looked at her with a loving warmth in his empty eye sockets. She loved it. She hadn’t been dead as long as him, so her eyes were still intact, but occasionally they would pop out and she would have to jab them back in.

“My love,” he said, rising out of the hole in the ground. She smiled and scooted back in hers to make room for him. He sat in the end of hers, bones and joints popping and occasionally falling off. He didn’t seem to care.

Once a week they would sit in her grave, they would talk, share their lives with each other. But if they got caught… then the living would obliterate them and it would all be gone. Every shared moment, every stolen kiss, every memory, gone, gone, gone…