So he gently placed himself onto the rusted, half-black bench, away from all the fuss. It was so easy for his grief to feel overshadowed by the others in his family during events like these. There was always someone claiming to know her ‘better’ or someone to share a fact or funny story he’d never heard of before. It made him wonder if he even knew who ‘she’ was this whole time. Suddenly, someone he didn’t seem to recognise came and sat next to him on the bench, he kept his eyes fixated on his shoes, hoping to not have to scrutinise their facial features or even bother conversing. They just sat with you in silence for a while, until their voice inevitably (and spontaneously) broke the tranquility

“It’s so easy to hold value to those you hold dear, but when you take a step back and listen to those around you share their experiences with the same person, you realise, no one on this Earth is an angel. That’s not what was intended. The value of the person you’re grieving, originates from the moral pedestal you place them upon, good or bad.” She stated, whilst staring over to him for approval

“And who were you to her exactly?” He snapped back

“Oh you wouldn’t know— people lead more than one life simultaneously without knowing it, even if you wanted me to, I don’t fall into your world, and I never will, I just wanted to share my retrospective on death. I can assure you, no matter what path you walk in this life, nothing will ever always be as it seems. Good luck to you.” She briskly stands up, opens her black parasol, and walks away from the memorial, never to be seen again.