Where Has The Time Gone?

Special thanks to Carrie for sending me this link to a poetry site called The Mag.

This week's prompt at The Mag

“Wow, everybody's in a hurry.” He observes while basking on a bench in the middle of a park; or is it a meadow? Doesn't matter. The air is light and breezy, and the sky so bright that it bleaches the colors of the day.

They must be on their lunch breaks. He muses as people whisk by and then fade into the shadows of their office buildings; or are they trees? The mystery of his surroundings holds little interest for him at the moment. He's more intrigued by the way the shadows seem to engulf the passersby as they reach the edge of the grassy plot. The glare of sunlight befogs the perception of everything that enters the shadows.

It is out of this sun bathed fog, a gray-haired woman approaches with a weathered smile and tired eyes that reveal a spark of passion as she sits down on the bench beside him. Though she looks much older than him, her strangely familiar warmth makes his pulse race, and awkwardness interrupts the peaceful afternoon, as he struggles to start a conversation with her.

“Hi...” He pauses when he realizes she's trying to tell him something. Her eyes start to water as she softly moves her lips, but makes no sound. Wearily, she glances over her shoulder, and he notices that the shadows appear to be stretching toward her, hushing the glare of day.

“Where has the time gone?” He mumbles.

Turning back toward him, she unfolds a piece of paper and hands it to him. It reads:

Dearest Mike,

I’m so sorry I flinched

When you would get upset

Cowered, though you were never harsh

Transfused childhood-violence-guilt

To your innocent heart…

Though you understood why

Your heart still choked

I’m so sorry you became

My ingrained psychotropic replacement addiction

An impossible role

That you patiently endured

While I convulsed and transformed

A screaming withdrawal

That left you feeling you could do nothing right

I’m so sorry you’re not here to see

The transfiguration

Your seventeen years of faithfulness created

Accepting and supporting me

Forming and growing with me…

Your reward is despoiled prematurely

My evolution is empty without you

All my love,

Your remorseful wife

The paper turns to ash and is carried away by the breeze before he can read the last two lines. Staring at the now vacant spot on the bench beside him, an emptiness deep inside festers, but only momentarily until the peacefulness of the day rolls back in. The shadows recede once more to the edge of the lea, and the sky brightens.

“I wonder if I should be heading home now?” He examines the hand less watch face strapped to his wrist. Guess not. Resting his elbows on the back of the bench and one foot across the other knee, he settles back into life on the other side of a dream.