Dearest

I saw you today standing by my grave.

I saw you waving up at me, in the sky.  I waved back.

I saw the lovely little bright red butterfly, or maybe it was a moth.

I’ve never seen anything like that either – it was beautiful.

Thank you for the lovely violets you’ve put on my grave.

And the sweet little Isle of Wight teddy.

It just breaks my heart to see you standing there.

What a turn up for the books, eh?  Me buried and you grieving beside me.

We didn’t see that coming.

What a shame!  There were so many more conversations we could have had – should have had.  Still so many more holidays.  Where would we have gone next?  Back to Switzerland perhaps.

You must go without me; I’ll meet you there, watch you while you walk around the lake in St Moritz.

You’ll be closer to me in heaven, up in the mountains.  I’ll be able to reach down and touch you.

Go to Nietzsche’s house again, I liked it there.

Go up the Corvatsch cable car and I’ll join you for Bratwurst at the top.

I will be there with you, I promise.  You have to trust me.

Until then – I’ll be looking out for you, wherever you are.

Still with you.