A Better Day

I'm looking for a quite place to sit, to think, to get my thoughts in order, to rest my aching legs. I desperately need to make sense of this torrent of runaway misconceptions. To attempt to get a little of it straight; to understand what happened; some these wispy ideas may even make sense, be worthwhile, be worth remembering, who knows?

It's supposedly summer and the grey sky's are meandering passed; warning, hinting at rain which never arrives. It's not been a good summer. The occasional glimpse of sunshine does little to assuage the chilly air and I pulled my thin coat tightly around my body. Why do these small town streets enhance the wind so?

Alas there are few seats near the shops and all are occupied or have pedestrians storming, distractingly, passed. All those shoppers chasing that last sale item or bargain. I walk around the square again just in case a single space has suddenly become free. I often end up resting in the nearby park some half a mile away. But at this time of day it is filled with kids and screeching and seems just so off putting. And it's just as miserable here; all around are apparently busy, fulfilled, sane. While I wait for that wistful meaning that never quite arrives.

I give up wondering the town centre and venture into the park. There the wind is more forgiving; being stifled by the trees. These parks have even fewer places to sit, most likely down to petty vandalism, but down by the pond there is one hard metal bench that seems to survive and is often unoccupied. Here the wind strokes the trees and the leafs caused by the summer dryness blow. Few people stroll passed and I try not to notice those that do; try not to see their envious lives, there excited chattering, the bickering, and those ignoring each other.

I hang on until late afternoon and then linger, linger, linger; watching nothing but the wind. I don't want to return to my grimy bedsit. The single room that reminds me of you, the room we temporarily shared, and you all too quickly vacated. Finally I thought this was it, I had found the one, the only one, and then you're gone. One day you just vanished, no note, no message, just vanished. All that's left is the cup you chipped, some forgotten clothes and a painful memory. A memory too disagreeable to endure.

Back home then after a tiring day wondering the streets, to the place that is no home and another night of bitter remembrance.

I'll be back here tomorrow, wondering these small town streets, as there's nowhere else to go, nowhere else to escape to. The poetry of life is so perplexing.