The tomb stones, the grass, his shoes were all covered in snow. The sky was red, the sun was gone, and he felt numb, not terribly cold, just numb. He felt a tear on his cheek and quickly brushed it off with his sleeve. She had been in love with him and he had never known. He sat on the wet grass by a cross-shaped grave and stared off into the distance where he could see the mourners disappearing into their cars, back to their routines. He had cancelled class, speeded to the air port for a flight to New York, almost gotten hit by a mad cab driver, and was now sitting on wet grass with his new Banana Republic pants.
Hours passed and he forgot the time. Or perhaps he didn't care to look at his watch, to see if was time for lunch or for supper. He got up, shook off the snow from his pants, cleared his glasses with his shirt and walked to where the crows had gathered. Her grave was a simple, grey stone with her name embedded in the middle. He looked at it, bent down, kneeling, and touched it with his finger tips. And then when the crows flew away, and the snow stopped, and the sky became dark, he broke down and silently cried.