Solitary.
Not confined.
Not entirely alone.
But upon a bench.
Shielded by pine planked parasol.
Brushing drops from the sleek breaker.
Pitter patter from above soothes and reveals.
Head reclined as hands rest on protruding knees.
Where will I be in a few seasons time?
This familiar environment won’t be as such after the resettlement.
This fortress of solitude a mere figment of a past time.
Though but a couple beams and a boarded seeing seat,
It’s still the place where once we would meet.
Innocent chats, holding hands, our hearts surely beat.
I shall miss the river and you.
Midnight walks, laying in morning dew.
Arguments and fights were few.
What are you thinking?
Farewell for now.
Bench. You.
Solitary.