Memories of Them

The City Bench

And there it was. Gurgling deep down in the pit of my stomach. Making my skin crawl with heat I hadn't known I was capable of producing. The sounds of the city around me disintegrated into a jumble I was not aware of. And there I was, sitting on a small wooden bench in the middle of everything looking at an incoming text. A text I had hoped to never receive. Mostly for their sake, not mine. The last time I had seen them contained enough emotion for any person's lifetime, and I only have one. But here they were, trying to apologize for what they had done that night. Trying to make me forget the starry night sky I could never again see in the haze of city lights. Trying to make me forget the smell of pine and dirt that covered everything, the trees, the animals, and me. Trying to make me forget the emotion, the anger that burned me so bad that night I wouldn't feel for weeks. And the sadness that occupied it all. Then, in the middle of my thoughts, I looked up. I took note of everything, trying to act like I wasn't reliving that night that still burns deep in my heart after so long. I took note of the hot dog vendor attempting to sell their last stock to go home for the night, of the blindingly bright light of the street lamps posted at their watch every several feet, of the couple across from me oblivious from the world, of the smell of the city. And then I forgot... I forgot everything. I forgot the city lights and the pine forests. I forgot the hot dog seller and the one who broke my every bone that one day I don't remember long ago. I forgot because there in front of me when I looked up was hope. Something I had forgotten, something I would fight to not forget now. Then that hope said, "Hello".