Beneath the waterfall there is carved into the rock, our names, for future generations to read and speculate what they might mean. I chiselled it in there because I remembered how much you loved the idea of immortality, and after you died, I felt you needed more than a tombstone to remain behind. So here lies the ghost of you, etched forever in the rock beneath the waterfall, immortalised by speculation, of who we were, who we are, and who we'll grow to be. And while I let my beard grow out, the ghost of you is slowly becoming legend, and while there are many who share your name, the hand that chiselled it into the rock was guided by none other than you. And people will always come here and swim in the river at the bottom of the waterfall, and as they look up, the endless fountain spraying in their eyes, they will look up and see you, see us, and take away with them a part of us, and carry us with them forever.

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