Love in the Natron

In the silence of the night, Thomas crept back toward the gate until he stood against its cold iron bars. He peered through the twisted metal, his heart pounding, his gaze sinking into the darkness beyond, where tombstones stood like forgotten workers at the end of their shift. Tonight, he will win back his beloved. And the darkness must extend forever. He climbed the tall gate and dropped his body into the cemetery. Strangely, he felt safe. The locks still held. No one could enter. He had time. No one would interrupt him. This was an act few had dared attempt, at least, as far as he knew. But he didn't care about consequences. This was not a crime. It was love. Only dust would stain it, the same dust that covered the coffin which cradled the woman he had loved. "I love her so much that I don't want her to live a happy life with him." "What?" "You always hear lovers say their ex left them, broke their heart, and married someone else, and then they claim to wish them happiness. But that's a lie." His friend skipped a stone across the waves. "That's true." "No, it's false. A lie. Anyone who truly loves a woman only wants her for himself, for his own selfishness. When he says he hopes she's happy with someone else, he's just performing for the people around him. But if you ask him alone, he'll admit that deep down, he wishes she'd return, broken after a miserable marriage, telling him, 'You were the best of men. I was a fool to choose him over you.' Don't you agree with me?"