on my way back to the métro Monday, i had to walk along the outside of Montparnasse Cemetery, a place i have loved since i was new to France and struggling to pick up the language in Sorbonne phonetique classes that were held nearby. one of the side gates was open, and my grey mood somehow provided the perfect excuse for a return visit.
i felt myself pulled inside towards my favorite grave. along the way, i passed old headstones sanded into near illegibility by centuries of city air and lanky family tombs with shattered stained glass windows.
there were graves blanketed with flowers and graves decorated with picture plaques.
gravestones carved with Chinese and Hebrew, tombs filled with families stretching back hundreds of years…and there were statues, both modern and classical.
everywhere you look there is something to seduce the eye.
many writer, actors, musicians and artists are buried there, and their graves are among some of my favorites. like this guy:
i hadn’t been to the cemetery in years, but Monday i was missing little sun something terrible, and for some reason all those graves whispered comfort to me. all those monuments, big and small, to sons and daughters, mothers, fathers, friends and lovers, all lost. all around me were the stone remains of stories and love, people whispering, shouting, even screaming, “Remember him! Remember her! Remember this person who mattered to me.”
and of course, i was remembering the person who mattered most to me. i found myself drawn in the direction of one particular grave…my favorite one.
for some reason it made me think of little sun.