Tattooed

May 26, 2010
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The powder grey begins to ruffle as the pigeon inches forward bravely to retrieve the quarter sized piece of crust that the lady, on the bench to my right, had so graciously tossed from her brown paper bag that she held from the bottom to patch the rip in the seam. Her hands shake slightly as she pulls another piece of crust from the bag and tosses it into a sea of grey, black, and little red webbed feet. Her face was worn, and told of a life that was full of adventure and excitement. I would like to believe the wrinkles that tattooed her face were from eighty years of smiling. But the tears welling up in her eyes as she glanced at the empty space beside her on the bench told otherwise. Those tears told of love, longing, happiness, and sorrow. I could only imagine what may have happened; perhaps she had fallen in love, just like I had, maybe he was all she had hoped for. A hopeless romantic that made it his mission to keep a constant smile one her face and maybe he passed away, leaving her here, alone, with nothing but the distant memories of smiles from every wrinkle upon her face. We are all searching for something or someone; it seems that no matter what they will always leave. Maybe it’s time we step back, look in the mirror and remember all the good, instead of dwelling on the fact that we will all be alone; someday.





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