Letters I send to your grave (because the both of us are dead)

Just because you love something, doesn't mean it can't go on without you. I mean, look at Sirius. He went on, just like Pandora, like Barty, like Evan, like cousin Narcissa and Andy and whoever else in that ill-starred life of mine that may have cared about me.

I'm writing this to you, once beloved mother, for you may have been the only one who wasn't able to go on.

Or maybe you have, now you're dead. And I'm a ghost, sending letters to your grave because somehow I'm stuck here in a world that won't let me go and you, you of all people, are the one I'm going to for that littlest of comfort that is found in a listening ear.

Not that I am speaking these words out loud. No, talking to you shall give you  the right to speak back, and I am not ready to hear your screams again, mother.
Let me just once, monologue in peace, even when it's on paper.

Thank you.

I have to admit that you have been a much more pleased audience now you're lifeless and buried and no longer able to yell at me, mother. I thank you for that.

Now, where shall I begin?