Sitting on a bench for an hour

Sitting On A Bench.


Bench Thoughts

If I were to sit on a bench with you. At the age, you should be. I would feel so incredibly lucky.
I’d ask you about your day. What your favourite thing to do would be?
Have you got a scent that makes you warm and fuzzy?
We’d lay a blanket in front of the bench on the floor, lay ourselves upon our backs, watch the clouds form shapes. A sheep, a dinosaur¬†or a candy floss tree.

I’d look into your blue eyes if that were so. Or gaze into your brown eyes, that I’ll never know. I wish I knew what colour your eyes would have been.
We’d have a jam sandwich, and you’d eat quavers, just like your dad.
You’d tell me you love to hear your siblings, how they make you smile, just as hey did when you were here. I wish I could see that smile again.
We’d talk about anything that’s troubling you, and your excitement about your new school.
We’d look out over to the sea. Wave to the far away ferries, in case they could see us and were waving too.

Time Moves Quickly

I’d close my eyes for a moment, and take in our togetherness.
I would be able to sense you fidgeting, after all, you shouldn’t have to sit still. With my eyes still closed, I would take your hand, knowing I wouldn’t be able to let go.
The sudden volume change of the crashing waves, the noise of the seagulls, circling overhead in the hope for a crumb or two.

I know the time is ticking, that it is moving fast, I don’t have long; so I ask you to stay. Please stay, just for one more hour. As I turn my¬†head, hold my empty hands out in front of me the realisation hits, the silence which replaces you next to me.
You’re gone.
The hour is over.
Of course, it’ll never be enough.

One Last Breath.


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