As I sit on that oakwood bench,
and the smell of our
favourite spice corn
wafts through the air,
all the memories

come flooding back.

You would point at the sky
and trace the clouds.
I would laugh with that unattractive wheezing sound,
but you didn't mind.
I thought it was perfect.
You were a little unobservant,
but I didn't mind,
because I was a little weird.

We were meant to be.
the world could see that,
and god knows
I never believed
in anything stronger than I did
In your promises.

I would blush
crimson red whenever I found you staring at me, and turned away.
I would love all those times
when the cold rain
would force us close to seek warmth.
My heart was so swollen

with love.

Maybe that's why I couldn't see where it started going wrong.

Maybe it was those unrequited calls.

Maybe it was your friends who always interfered, whom I detested.

Maybe that one time you pretended to be busy to avoid me, the start of many such acts.

Maybe it was you.
Maybe it was me.

But as I sit on that oakwood bench,
watching the old married couple in front of me,
your promises resonate in my ears.

Pointing at them you would say,

"We will end up like that."

and sometimes I think to myself,
holding on to the last thread,
my heart seems to have died when you left me cold.

In those lonely nights, I keep

wishing like a broken record.

Maybe we could have been more?