The park bench.!

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
On a silent winter evening, the ghosts of loneliness haunts me and i lead my steps to the broken bench on the far end of the park. There always seems to be something missing in my life. What is it? I keep wondering, and then, the answer strikes like a thunder, and tears roll down from two tired eyes.

Submitted: December 12, 2011

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Submitted: December 12, 2011

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I went there often, silently walking past the strewn leaves, watching the trees sway lifelessly in haphazard circles. Those silent evenings, when the shadows of insomnia dawned upon me, when my legs got paralyzed by an overdose of obscenity, the broken bench on the far end of the park was my only shelter.

 

Why did I go there, I asked myself. What were the questions that impinged me so much, whose answers made me trace the lonely road to the park bench so often. And then, just as I started to close my eyes to the superfluous scenes of decadence, I was answered by the silent breeze ruffling my hair with a touch of silk. I was answered by the birds in chorus, infecting the evening air with their eternal melody.

 

 I realized the unfortunate dilemma I was in. I missed something, someone. The emptiness all around me screamed like an unleashed beast, and so there I was, clutching the ends of a tilted bench, struggling to make my life straight.

 

For the long hours that I spent on the park bench, I got a feeling that someone is watching me from miles apart. Someone special, someone who was a very close friend and a priceless

soul mate. I looked up at the moon, shining with an abeyant glow, and thought about her. A portrait so flawless, a beauty so serene. Why was she so far away from me? Why did it have to be this way, I thought. But the feelings of endearment appeared to blur in a hurricane of compulsion.

 

Tired by the third degree of emotional torture every time, I rise and start walking back on the dark aisle, when suddenly, the encumbering thought hits me like a tracer bullet. Life is difficult, I know it is, but without her, it is impossible. I miss her, I miss that special one.

I miss the pancakes in her kitchen, I miss the cups of coffee she brewed up to keep me awake while studying, I miss her divine touch on my forehead, I miss everything about her a lot.

Yes, I miss my dear mother a lot……..  


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