THE EMPTY BENCH

The bench awaits you. No, I have not seen anyone in your place.

I remember our days together. On that bench in the park.On cold mornings, after that walk, I would always throw up my hands in despair and occupy this particular bench. And you would slowly come to me. Sit close. Put your arm around my neck and start explaining. About random things. Coax me.

I never relented. You never gave up.

Slowly I would rest my head unto your shoulders. Put my hands around your waist as if nothing had happened. And drift into my land of dreams. Some mocking bird’s shrill voice would wake me up. I never knew how long I lived in my Utopia. And you…..would entwine your fingers with mine all the time. It felt perfect. Just perfect. I would smile. And your eyes twinkled.

A rainy morning, I sat there crying. My tears mingling with the rain. You spotted them. You were my shade, my armour. Once you wrote me a poem. And I rudely passed it off as a “fling”. I could see you were hurt. Very badly. The next day I told you “You are the most precious gift I ever had”. You smiled briefly. But you always cherished the imprints of my love on your face. Then you laughed. Took me in your arms. Again, it was perfect.

My imperfections never bothered you. It did me. I was anxious. Yes, I was contemplating. Of us breaking apart. No longer could we be perfect. You and I had to go separate ways. For good. And I asked you again. The ugliest favour. You fretted. Stomped about. You came up with your alternatives.

I never relented. You never gave up.

I’m not with you now. Maybe you’ll never forgive and forget me. I still haunt you. I don’t want to though.

This empty bench kills me. Tears me apart – into odd pieces.

And you…What would you do if you were in my place ? I wonder.