She starts her early morning walk. No music. What can be better than listening to the feeble sounds around her in that quiet park? “You’ll be warm soon,” she whispers to herself when her body shivers because of the morning chill.
An empty bench is approaching. She has been always fascinated by empty benches. Each one has an untold story. An empty bench is… not sad. It is just lonely with a touch of melancholy that it tries to hide beneath its silence. It is not inviting despite its loneliness. It gives one the complete freedom of whether to be a part of its untold story for a blink of a time, or to just be a passer-by.
She sits on the empty bench. Him. She shivers even more. It has been years since they last talked. She remembers when he last called her, but she missed his call, like everything else we miss in life. Then they both went their separate ways. But he, somehow, remained within her. Somehow entangled among her fingers and veins. Somehow he turned into her rain, snow and the warm cup of hot chocolate in cold times. And she gratefully and painfully hid him well inside of her.
She raises three fingers to her lips, places a whiff of a kiss and touches the bench again. “I miss you, you know?”
She stands up and starts moving away. There are many empty benches ahead… and within.
Photos by Mermaid