This was our bench,
We sat and talked of the future,
while birds sang songs of our love.
You held my hand and I felt safe.
Years passed, we came back
less often, till the bench was all but forgotten.
The farther the bench was from our memories
the farther you drifted from me,
till one day you were gone.
I wandered searching for that feeling
from so long ago.
I found our bench,
broken, old, forgotten,
I visit our bench daily now,
I wrote this poem after finding an old picture I took of an old broken down bench. I really have no idea where the story came from but I like the imagery it paints for me. Parts of this poem ring true, those are for me though (I’m sure you can tell which parts).