Alone, she lays on the park bench that cradles her withering body.
She gazes at the quickly approaching sunset which beholds swirls of melted crayons.
The tangerine rays reach out to comfort the woman with a gentle hug.
They stretch out and lay next to her on her wooden bed.
Still, though, she looks past the beauty and into her own self pity.
“How did I end up here?” she pleas.

The haunting evening wind offers a blanket of chills.
The woman searches for a sense of nostalgia,
Only to be greeted by broken illusions.

Being in solitude wasn’t uncommon for her.
Often times when she couldn’t take anymore,
She would visit the small cafe around the corner.
Her favorite meal was a plate of dejection with a side of regret.
For dessert she would frequently indulge on a bowl of sorrow drizzled with despair.

When the cafe became too ominous, the woman wandered away.
She feared turning back to her gruesome reality
So instead she walked until she found her park bench.
Somehow this aged and battered bench ended up in a flawless place.
It was surrounded by blossoming daisies and voices of ebullient children.
The woman knew she was out of place when she roamed about the park,
So she stuck to her isolated resting place.

On nights like this the woman gazes upon the millions of stars
Which hang weightless on their inky back drop.
As she’s hit with recollections, she too wishes she was weightless
But the woman knows that could never happen,
For she is too weighed down with bereavement.

Flashes of her old life smack her with intensity
And the woman begs her heart to unravel from her mind.
Screams and cries suddenly become audible,
But not without painful visuals to accompany them.
The woman sees everything she has worked so hard to flee from.
Her ears ring with hurtful words that had already shattered her heart once before.
“No, this is too much! Make it stop!” she woman yells to an empty audience.

The woman begins pacing,
With her heart on fire
And her mind in agony.
Tears full of supplication and conviction
Flow hopelessly down her cheeks.


She pauses in the middle of the park.
The battered woman stands alone
In the dark which has tried so hard to completely engulf her.
With nowhere else to turn she looks up.
She faces her past for the last time
And with both hands stretching for the stars
She prays.

With relief rushing over her
And comfort embracing her,
The woman feels something she’s never felt.
This is not the sense of nostalgia.
This is real.