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The Park
Walking to this place,
A place of 3 years past,
Everything comes back to me.
My feet shuffle the black street
And other than that,
All is silent.
Much unlike my noisy past
In this haunting park.
Turning the bend,
I just barely see him throwing that bottle
And it breaking on the ground.
Night number one.
The rusty green bleachers
That I sit on now...
Where we shared one of those unwelcome kisses.
Just nearly a year ago.
I can still smell his cigarettes,
Not like it's something to remember.
The cold March breeze sweeps over me...
It's time to go home.
This sort of thing shouldn't happen often.
And I can remember what we said.
The music, the smells, the taste...
Those April days were so much warmer,
But they leave a legacy.
One that was not meant to be remembered,
Nor relived.
