This tomb is dedicated to all who passed without a family to bury them. Lost souls of unknown names, untold stories, unsigned wills. Elders who've turned to dust, leaving only ash where there should be splendor and wisdom. Wanderers with no friends to sing their praises or dry their tears. Children whose breaths were taken away before their laughter could light up the sky. We sear their initials into our minds, branding ourselves in their stead. We carry their burden on our backs, battered and beaten. We remember those who are lost, reliving the sorrows of the past — the reverberating pain of a healing wound — to burst open anew, relapse, and drown in gloom every blue moon. The memories are painful, but we carry them in our hearts evermore, for no pain burns brighter than fading to black.

Many hands, outstretched Grasping, clutching, clawing At meaning, at remembrance At everything, at nothingness