myrandompoems

It was a cold Novembers morning.

It had just snowed, and there was a slight mist and dullness in the air.

She was sitting on the rusted park bench.

The moss had covered all of the planks now, and it had so many memories.

She pictured herself playing in the open field, and checking to see if her mother was sitting on the bench paying attention to her.

Her thoughts then transcended to her first picnic and spilling juice on the very same bench.

Her hand trailed to the stain, unconsciously.

She then thought about her first kiss.

The butterflies filling her stomach.

She pictured coming here with her grandmother and resting her head peacefully on her lap as she read a book to her.

And then when she passed away, how she came to console herself and how the tears fell drop by drop and filled the cracks in the wooden planks.

Later on when her friends came there drunk one night, and just as she was about to fall, the park bench gave her balance.

As she fell on it, it held her, as if her mother were there.

And then when her loved ones passed on , one by one...oh how she longed to be with them.

But sitting on this park bench felt like being with them .

As if it were a part of her life.

Ready to catch her when she falls.

The next day, she wasn't there.

Neither the next day nor the next week or month or year.

As the dark clouds looked over the park bench, they suddenly gave way and rain fell, as if it were the tears of the park bench itself.

After the sun came out, a little girl came and sat on the park bench.

And it cradled her as she was left alone by her friends and as she cried, the park bench gave itself hope.

Hope of moving on. Hope of letting go...