The aged couple is now the woman alone. The bench no longer carries two but one. Steve the Polish man from the last post is nowhere to be seen. Sometimes she still sits outside. I'm not certain whether he is ill inside or dead.
She would bring him ice cream. I thought that was nice. She cared for him. He was there for her. Conversations seemed scarce, but all he needed was her with him. And all she needed was his wrinkled hand beside hers. They just sat and watched the world go by.
This makes me feel foolish. Thinking of the times they saw me run to my vehicle, dropping my keys, late for something very important once again, awkwardly waving at them, coffee spilling in my other hand. And they loved, while I was saving the world one meeting at a time.
My greatest friend died two years ago. After his casket was put in the dirt, our feet carried us to other places while our hearts threw out the anchors persistent to never move again. A young man came to me telling me the friendship he had seen was unique and a story like in a movie or a book. I thought that was a beautiful thing to tell me. Time passed and God chucked the anchor back on board splitting the rotting wood of my heart. He heals it. His Love hang on wood dying because he wanted my heart and wants yours.
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Words are a prison when I try to tell you the beauty of my other greatest friend.
3 comments:
You're beautiful. Thanks for putting your words where I can read them.
hey - thanks for this.
Mieke, you are beautiful.
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