Sorrow can be marked in many ways...

Perhaps...

...in the tears that burn a path down our aging face...

...In the woulda/coulda/shoulda ache that never diminishes...

...in the flowers we leave behind on the grave.

We care.

But we can't talk of it.

Because our sorrow is too immense for words...

...and words choke like a stone in our throats.

As the years pass we turn the stone of our grief over and over again...

...seeking a less jagged edge...

...a smoother ease of memory that doesn't tear open the old wounds and make our souls bleed again.

There is never a less jagged edge.

There is only the flowers  we offer withering on the grave of remembrance...  

...wilting in the sunshine as a small token that we remember.

And that we still care.