It’s the publicness of it. And the sense that I don’t belong. That I am not like the others who are there. It is all my imaginings. And he would say so what? So what? What does it matter? What does any of it matter? I think of those in Aber’s cemetery. All long gone. As have all their fears, hopes and ambitions. Small fry. Small stuff. And my stuff is small. Nothing counts. Not really. I need to detach. To put it all in perspective. Just do my best. I am small. So small. Shall I embrace that?
