The Solitary Bench
In the distance, I spotted one and it gave me a feeling of longing. A lonely wooden bench. I sat there after a long walk — to rest, to watch the hours go by, to feel the wind ruffle my hair, to watch the children play with the water and the cats roaming around.
I listened to the waves in front of me as I watched the sunset and the faces of all the people who, just like me, were there watching with delight as the sun painted the clouds in different hues. It’s special to be surrounded by people who also need to feel the power of the sun.
I sat there writing a line or three — notes from which I now read to you.
One by one, people then walked away when it started getting dark. But I stayed until the end. Just me and mental pictures of lonely benches everywhere I’ve been. I thought of the ones I walked by and sat on when we were asked to stay home, when we couldn’t board a plane to go see our loved ones, when being so isolated felt worse than the disease.
Perhaps just reminiscing about how there were so many empty ones back then and how lovely it was, despite it all, to sit unbothered in my solitude.
How different everything is now. Being back to “normal” feels so crowding.
Blessed is she who finds an empty space in the park at sunset. Blessed is she who can get lost in silence in all the noise. Blessed am I that, no matter how loud it gets, I can always be alone with my thoughts on my solitary bench.
