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Bench Swing Memories

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Sinking into the soft brown earth, my feet leave an imprint with each step. My mind wanders as I travel further and further up the hill, yet I never stray from the well-worn path. I see a large oak tree through the field of yellowing grass before me and the high-pitched laughter of a little girl reaches my ears. I can bear it no longer. My stride turns into a ground eating run as my yearning to reach the place of memories becomes insufferable. Then I see it. The old wooden bench hanging from the oak by rusty chains. There is a woman with a small child on the bench. The girl is soundly asleep in the woman’s lap, snoring softly with each breath. I can easily see the affection in the woman’s eyes as she gazes lovingly at the slight girl strewn across her legs. Playing with the girl’s soft brown hair, the woman slowly swings the bench back and forth in the autumn breeze.
I step forward pensively, my foot coming down on a twig. The woman looks up at me with her golden-brown eyes and suddenly they are gone. I collapse in the bench, sobs shaking my body. Remembering all the fond memories that occurred in this bench only makes the sobs rack my body more violently. All the time I spent with her comes rushing back into my head in a vicious wave, making my heart ache. Wishing to be pulled down by sleeps clutches in her lap again, for her hand to tenderly stroke my hair, I lie down on the bench. But the cold, hard wood does not comfort me. Nothing will. Knowing that there is no way around this pain, my mouth quietly utters the one word that will always cause me the most hurt, “mom.”




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Quack209 said...
Jan. 16, 2011 at 11:09 pm:
so sad :( but wonderful writing!
 
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