I was walking through the one place where most people fear to be, fear that they will too soon join this area six feet under. To me, it was nothing more than a place to say goodbye. I've said goodbye to so many people I started to grow immune to the sadness, but every so often I'd have to revisit my past and enter the one place where the immunity is nullified and I once again remember that sadness that I hide deep in my soul, my tomb.

I felt the small key grow cold against my skin as it bounces with my every step. The old rusted key was the only connection to my past I kept with me, and it will remain that way. Every piece of me that I leave within my tomb ends up a piece that I forget, another version of myself being buried within the walls. I held that piece in my hands firmly, the golden frame shining brightly the sunlight. I was trembling as I went over a hill, down on the other side in the shade of a willow tree and covered in an array of vines was the mausoleum of my past.

The construction was mostly made out of the same gravel used to construct roads but right above the locked doorway was a single word written in pure gold. When I died I wanted the finest gold to outline my grave, but with little money to my name I paid to only have my name be in gold, Xochitl. I have lived under ten thousand names and lived ten thousand lives, but every single one boiled down to my history always staying the same. My name is Xochitl, I was born an Aztec, and still live to this day as an immortal. As an Aztec child I ran away and left our shiny city of gold to explore the world, I got lost and for years I couldn't find my way. I kept moving and found new places and new people, and as time passed I stopped aging with time and watched the world pass by me. I paid for a mausoleum and one night tried to kill myself, but it didn't work. I walked out of the building in the same piece I walked in. Years after that I decided to just start go do something worth wild. I started to travel and keep going. Once in awhile I would find a friend worth breaking my no connection rule, and that would always lead me right back here. I can't bury my friends in my tomb, so I bury our memories so that I don't have to think about them so often. The only time I take the second to think about everyone is at times like these when I go to bury another friend.

I fumbled my hands through the chains searching for the lock but with my shaking I dropped the frame. Watching it smash to the ground my heart dropped as once again I witnessed him falling. The frame smashed and with it glass sprawled in the grass and glimmered with the morning's dew drops. I fell to the ground and rang out in tears picking up the pieces of the frame, but each piece I picked up was mangled and broken so I dropped it once again. Reaching my hands between all of the pieces I pulled the picture out and held it to my heart. A tear drop fell to the picture as I held it close.

"Would you like some help?" An elderly man appeared behind me. He took the key from around my neck and placed it carefully and gently in the lock. I heard the clicks as the chains fell to the ground and the gentleman turned back to me. "You're in a graveyard, this grass grows with our tears, as does this willow for you."

I looked up at the willow tree and smiled, I planted that tree when I first had the mausoleum constructed, and now it thrived with the watering of my tears. "You know me then?" I asked.

"I have a vague idea. I've heard stories from my grandpa about someone who visited the graveyard every so often and never changed, stayed the same age and the same features. Someone who lived untouched through the ages, one that could be called immortal. My great grandfather first spotted you. He keeps track of every visitor especially during the time of grave robberies. When he looked for you he saw you visited and with a single picture he had he found that you didn't look any different. It had been a family legacy to find and track you to find out about you. We have whole journals keeping track of you since then. You never came to any funerals, always showed up with a new photo frame and would stay in that old mausoleum until nightfall. Then you would sneak out and wouldn't be seen until the next time you visited." The man chuckled as he explained my history. I had a feeling that I was be watched a long time ago, but it never bothered me. The family that watched over the graveyard never liked press, not a single journalist was allowed to enter the premises alive. If they knew the truth, they wouldn't tell anyone.

"Sorry to stop the legacy from continuing but it's true. Your great grandfather was a great man, I remember him well." I pushed myself off of the ground.

"If you don't mind my asking, what are all the photo frames you carry in here with?" The man offered his hand just after I stood.

Looking down to the picture I released my grip to stop crinkling the edges. "They're my friends." I tried to smile at the picture.

The man opened the mausoleums doors and we walked in together. I looked around as the light from the open doorway shined along every golden frame that lined every wall, every shelf, and every inch of space there was. "You have been here longer than my great grandfather, all these pictures, all your friends. These are all stories of your life?"

I didn't know how to answer him, I was too busy gazing around teary eyed at all of the memories I had been running from. Everytime I visit it's one more memory, one more person I said goodbye to. By the time I leave I have rebuilt my immunity and walk out like nothing, and I keep that composure until I walk down that hill and see the willow tree trying to hide the emotions. I grew the willow tree like a cage to hide my emotions, but now I'm in the cage. Taking a seat on top of the small table meant for my coffin, I took the time to remember every story that lined the walls.

"You know sometimes that best way to say goodbye is to share the stories, would you like to talk about anything? Maybe reliving the memories is the best way to say goodbye." The man sat next to me on the table gazing over the frames.

It was either that he was just curious or he wanted to help, either way I knew he was right. "Maybe it will be better to share them."

"Okay, why don't you start with this one," He chose a random picture frame and handed it to me. "Stories of Immortality, story one."