Sitting on a Bench 

I waited for you patiently. I sat on that old brown bench next to the fountain we used to throw quarters at. I waited for your ship to sail back home. I did, I really did for long.

Then, when I felt that maybe you got lost on the way, I went to the seaport. I waited there on a bench near a a gate. The wind always blew my strands of hair and my white dress, my hair to my face and dress to the left. I waited and presenced many ships land and leave, but you were never in any of them. 

My imagination and insecurites unraveled. I pleaded to upstairs that you’d come come to me not only safe, but to [me]. Then, one day you did. I was happy, you were indifferent, something had changed. Your ship came and left 5 or 6 times.

For those 5 and 6 times I waited for you by the seaport. Every time you came, it felt different, you changed more and more. I realized I had changed as well.

The 7th time your ship left and came, I swear to you I waited sitting down. Not on the seaport anymore, I waited for my time, and it came. When you came and did not see me, you felt weird, felt I was indifferent. I had changed. I was no longer waiting for you. While you were away, somebody else came for me. I left. Some tell me you now sit in that old bench near the fountain you now throw quarters at, just waiting.



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