In the quiet lonely sepulcher you lie endlessly waiting for time to tire itself out.
I on the other hand am fighting a battle against time.
Picking up the pieces as they fall, patching the cracks created by the pounding tick of the clock.
As you wait I work to preserve your memory, until I myself am but a whisper through the trees. Until
these stones too turn to dust. For even eternity needs a facelift.
Views of the interior (above) and exterior (below) of the Chapel of the Sisters in Prospect Cemetery, both brought to you by Freddy Melo.