I love burials. It is the only event in which the timid have our place. It seems as if the world had been manufactured for extroverts. Except for the cemeteries... Here, I can keep silent and not pretend to be anything that I am not. If someone asks me, it's okay not to answer, or do it with a look or a touch on the arm. Nothing else is needed. If one does not lavish on words, comments and signs of social dynamism, one is forgiven. Not even that. It is not taken into account from the beginning.

The cemetery is the realm of the withdrawn. A relative has died. But I notice how the autumnal sun hits a gravestone. One that shows a photo of a middle-aged person. A woman. With difficulty due to the sun's rays, I can read that her epitaph says: "You left before your time, but you remain in our hearts." I get closer to see the photo better. Contrary to what I thought, she was young. "2002-2017". Very young. With all life ahead. Lost forever.

I focus again on the funeral I am attending. Someone is saying a few words. Common places, prepared phrases. We all become better when we die. I move away from the group again, unnoticed, and I focus my face towards the sun. Like a sunflower.

While I enjoy the warm autumnal sun, which drives away the first cutting breezes of the year, I wonder what unfortunate event could have reaped the life of that fifteen-year-old girl. No one should see their future broken so soon. "Wasyma E. South" To my surprise I notice the apparent past tense form her name starts with: "was...". It is maliciously ironic.

In the inner forum of my introversion, I can afford such occurrences. As also that, again to my surprise, I am feeling more the death of that Wasyma than that of my relative. The autumnal rays rest on my shoulders and tell me that I should not feel bad about it. They comfort me.

I disown the funeral I attend. At least, for a few minutes. I prefer to honor the memory of Wasyma E. South. Never the death of such a young person will be sufficiently veiled. I look closely at her photograph. She was a girl with a pretty and smiling face. I wonder if she would be happy in life, as her photo states. Her tombstone is surrounded by flowers. But some are old and without petals left. Have many people come to her funeral? Will she be remembered by her relatives, as the epitaph promises? Judging by the date of her death, this took place recently. I wonder if her parents will still mourn her, if she would have a boyfriend who still remembers her. If she liked to go to school and study, if she had plans for the future. The latter seems to me the bitterest; since if she had them, she could never fulfill them.

I do not know how many of these questions can be answered with a yes. Wasyma, I answer most of the questions of my life with a no. How many questions would you answer with a no? Did you close yourself to life? Is that? In short, I can not do anything for you, but at least this wonderful sun will always illuminate the place of your eternal rest. And maybe I'll visit you from time to time, why not? Every time I want to come here to meet with myself, with the afternoon sun, and with you, Wasyma. I did not know you, but I will remember you. Rest in peace.

A mantle of golden leaves tucks you in your stone bed, while the last shreds of light shine on your marble name.