That empty bench…

The saddest scene for me has always been the abandoned park bench.

It echoes with profound intensity the pervasive isolation that too many experience, but too few reveal.

There is a shame that is carried upon the broken wings of abandonment that anchors us in that space between wanting to create beauty in this world, while believing that it will always be unreachable for ourselves.

So we birth the martyr within, presenting it as the selfless lover without.

Being sure to distract others with affection, so that no one notices how achingly we stare at those empty benches.

Those benches that once bore the hopes and dreams of togetherness.

Those benches that once were claimed as sacred spaces.

Those benches that remain available to the next loving embrace between its arms, knowing that once the lovers move on, it will remain, rooted to that spot, waiting to be embraced and abandoned, again.

Photo credit : Adobe Stock

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