As promised, I drove down to Barrhill earlier today. I stopped off at the florists to pick up another nice arrangement and headed down the road. It was a bright day, quite sunny and mild. I had a nice relaxed drive down, albeit I cried and felt the tears running down my face onto my chin, and then my shirt. I arrived at a now dull, heavily clouded over Barrhill and the cemetery was empty as usual. I noticed someone had put flowers on Allan's grave sometime after the last time I was down, just over a month ago. The flowers were now no more than mushy remnants, but it was nice to see someone had actually made the effort. Someone's also planted what I think is a rosebush, but it looks like a bit of disease or frost affected it. I think it's great that someone besides me has finally made an effort. The only problem I can think of will be miantenance. The heather that's already there was left to grow wild (and I mean WILD), and I suppose I will look after the rosebush too if necessary, though I am assuming the person who planted it won't be a regular visitor to Allan's grave to do it him/herself. It would be lovely if they did, because Allan was a good friend to a lot of people, and it would be wonderful if only one of them acknowledged that and visited him now and again, especially if they're local... I did my usual washing, drying and polishing the headstone, clearing away any debris and laying a nice arrangement of flowers for my precious Allan and of course for Jean. Heather's small heart-shaped stone that she left for Allan's birthday was still there, albeit not exactly on the headstone. I washed that and replaced it. I know Allan would appreciate the gift, so I wanted to make sure he'd be able to hang onto it for another wee while. Visits to the cemetery are often cathartic, and today was no exception. I felt okay until I started to write this diary entry and that's when things hit me again. I miss my lover, my partner, my friend. I hate the fighting that's gone and is still going on with his Dad, because that means I can't have contact with any of his family. I can't hear stories about Allan as a boy, as a youth, as a young man. I can't see the photos, share the laughs, the tears. Maybe that's the way some people would want it, but you see I've never lost anyone like this before, and I desperately wanted something to cling to. But that will now never happen.