The Lament
It’s been two o'clock since I sat down, tracing the grain of this ancient, town-tasting bench. Hours gone, and still, the curve of the wood is pressed into my memory, shimmering behind my eyelids. I couldn't help myself; I carved my name right next to yours, as if that were enough. The sun cast down a dazzling blessing too grand to merely backdrop my whole life. Now, I just feel so foolish and hollowed out, like I've been scraped down to the studs. Like a home after the move, where the sun shines cruelly on the bare floorboards, and all you can see is the dust dancing in the empty spaces where everything used to belong. I filed my nails on the splintered green, watching the light decay. I held onto the color of that blush of the afternoon sky until it was nothing more than a bruise fading into the coming black. If you're going to arrive, it has to be now, under this golden light. I kept faith with the rustling leaves, just in case your shadow slipped through. I strained...