On Monday morning I let my feet chase their whims and I find myself on the longer route again, the one that leads by the bench. Every step beats the rhythm of a song borrowed from a dream, drawing me closer and closer, back in time. My heart pounds loud as I enter the park, following the path that takes me along the old trees, guardians standing on the borderland of my yesterdays. I turn my head slightly to the left as I reach the bench and see another woman sitting there, laughing into her phone. I steal a quick glance at her, smiling as I turn my head away.
And I remember the joy, telling and coy.
On Tuesday morning the sun smiles as I walk and winks at me from behind frisky clouds, when I look up and find a man sitting on the bench. He’s wearing a suit and a frown, lines of great importance transforming into letters as he scribbles into a notebook.
And I remember the words you couldn’t say, fading away.
On Wednesday morning a cold wind is teasing me for tears and I see a couple huddled together, their knowing smiles filled with the happiness of their tomorrows.
And I remember how close you felt as my heart melt.
On Thursday morning I see an old woman resting there, eternal wisdom in those eyes.
And I remember how time stopped, when a new perception changed the laws of reflection.
On Friday the kids scream, reminding me how crazy I’ve been. In the rain the umbrellas cry how safe I felt with you back at that time. In the fog I recall how blind I felt with that silly happiness I could no longer control.
Like the sun’s reflection in a million teardrops after rain, like an endless echo of that single morning I retain, when I sat on that bench and felt more certainly than ever before, that it was one of those few mornings my life was truly worth living for.
Image by northernmonkeyz
Mitriel Faywood 