The Bench - Tierney Ragsdale

On the bench once again. The couple returns to this forested spot, each day. Every so often the woman moves an inch. In this past month I’ve seen her move twelve. They no longer gaze into forever. They no longer grasp hands with the fire. Winter’s last death freeze is creeping from her icy fingers to the recesses of his heart. She moves her once love drenched eyes to look to any other passerby. Her knees face in every other direction while he still faces towards her.