23 Dec 2014
I'm sitting on the same place where we used to go.
Looking at the same faded park. Picking the same paper daisies he used to pick for me.
It's ironic how now my company here is a puppy.
She wasn't even born the last time I was here.
The seesaw that squeezes your thighs is still here.
It's like this very place froze the moment we walked out of here holding hands and it's stayed the same.
I used to have a picture of me sitting at this park, that he took.
I deleted it though.
I guess dispute everything.
The park we went to together stayed the same.
The steps of the playground are still the faded red they were when I sat on them watching him climb the tree behind the bench.
Finally I've had the courage to come back here.
YOU ARE READING
The recollection of my misunderstood thoughts.
PoetryLife's a struggle and it's hard. There's nothing you can do. Just get trough it. I hate my life. There's nothing new. But when the sun is out and the sky is void of clouds you can't help but feel a smile is overdue
