Park Bench

Love seems to come and go more frequent and in shorter duration. People on the sidewalk pass by holding hands while I eat my string cheese and apple alone quietly on the park bench. It's a beautiful day but seems to be bogged by sadness.

As I walk to class I catch a glance of a girl walking toward me. Suddenly I feel the need to pull her aside and spill my thoughts. Playing the scene in my head, I imagine she recognizes my thoughts as if they were her own and she is so glad I jumped on the sporadic gumption.

She walks by and I, eyes to the ground, smell her perfume. Inhaling regret, staying quiet but know the pain of speaking up, reaching out, and opening. Some day... someday might never come.

Unclear which inflicts the most change, regret or the pain of loss. Or possibly the loss of pain and regret when life starts to change for the better.

Tea

As I boil water I flash back in time to the most primitive of days when our forefathers did just the same for a soothing drink. They gather the herbs from the earth and put them into the water that whispers with steam.

The herbs bleed. The water steeps into aroma, flavor, and genuine color. Two hands preserving sanctity. I sip slowly as to not provoke the tempered tea and in return it warms my soul.

Cry

My nose starts to tingle. I feel my eyes swelling hot and cheeks warm. My emotions crash onto my heavy face, broken. The water pours from my eyes like a salty faucet and yet my lids are clenched shut, mouth open, teeth exposed. Saliva strings like a web as I pant my gallon drum lungs. My body exhausts itself onto the floor as if I had tripped into a dark hole. My mind is blinded by wet blur. I seem to repeat the same phrases over and over, each time growing more passionately, raspy, and rough.

Time is only understood with a pulsing headache and worn expression. The arms and legs lay limp with short convulsions from gasping air. Yawn.

Anguish freezes involuntarily.

I exhale feeling expended, my will for contentment going out with my breath. My sleeve is lined with dark streaks where I wiped my nose like I did as a child. Skin shades of flesh and red pattern the outside of my eyes from tightly held mien. 

Once ashamed, now exposed to all the pain that was enclosed.