Most tourists don't go to graveyards. Every town has one. To a yellow eyed man they were the most interesting part of his travels. A sign was here somewhere...

He swiveled his head around. A bird chippered and dandelions were scattered on the left, a small creek flowed and clovers swayed to the right. He stopped for a moment thinking and smiled. His heel spun. To right it is.

He ducked under the boughs and looked at a pair of graves. "Yes, I'm coming." said one. "Will you marry me?" the other wrote. He looked closer. The left was a woman and the right was a man. Both had old names that was beautifully simple. But the woman's had a different last name than the man's. The man stepped back, the man's grave stated that he died at 18 while the woman's grave said she died at 74. A gasp escaped his mouth. He stood up determined. He was going to find all the messages she left.

He looked for another.

"I never found you." the man kneeled down. This man wasn't a husband. He died at 48. He shivered.

Kicking leaves, he left the graves behind.