The old man stood next to the grave, feet spread apart, head bowed. His finger gently traced with loving care the name engraved on the granite rock. Snow drifted on the wind and hit him in the face, stinging and feeling like knifes on his skin. Snow had slipped into his boot making his feet turn number and number with every passing second. The wind passing sharply through the branches sounded like mocking laughter to his red, frostbitten ears. He hugged his jacket closer to his body, trying to keep the warmth inside. The jacket had obviously seen a lot of ware, just like the rest of the man. From his boots to the lines carved into his face, dull blue eyes that had seen too much.

He turned to leave, but paused for a moment. His fingers rested on top of the rose that was engraved in the top of the left corner. “You've got to believe me,” He whispered pleadingly, his voice broken and raw as he began walking away. “I never meant to hurt you.”

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