Père Lachaise
Took a stroll through a cemetery today. I guess it blew my mind: so many people have lived and died, and all that is left if stone. Sepulchers with broken stained glass windows remember the years past, and rusted metal doors tell of the beauty that once was. Certain trees have lifted ancient stones and tipped crooked the crosses. Flowers are either fresh cut, wilting, or dead- only the plastic ones have somewhat survived.

I shuffled around wondering what people really believe about their lives and what they anticipate from the end. For as much Catholic tradition that is painted across this landscape, one might find it surprising that just outside the gate, death feeds an industry; I can pick my stone, choose my carving artist and pay for the flowers.

They tell me somewhere snuggled in among the history lies several famous people like Jim Morrison... I only saw Oscar Wilde's monument kissed in a myriad of lip shades.