Thank you to my anonymous editor
The paper lay on the grass next to the secluded park bench. It was folded in half. He picked it up without thinking. As he was about to throw it away he noticed a lipstick kiss on it. He couldn't resist opening it.
Had he intercepted a love note? The loneliness he found in the lines of the poem showed he hadn't.
"I don't know where he is.
I don't know what he looks like.
I don't know how we'll meet.
I know I'm waiting!
I know there's an empty spot for him to fill.
I know he'll call me beautiful!"
He wondered about the woman who had lost such a personal poem. Was she someone his age? Someone single and tired of watching love happen to all her friends but not to her? He knew just the feeling. Did she share her lonely feeling with others, or was it just on paper and kept private? What did she look like? She certainly aroused his curiosity.
It was already after 5 pm and he was on his way home from work. Maybe he could return earlier in the day tomorrow and see who showed up near the park bench. What were the chances that the author of the poem would show up just when he happened to be there? And how could he know who she was? He continued walking while he thought of the lonely poem.
David reflected on his life, seemingly ordinary on the outside. Nobody could tell from looking at him that he had health troubles. He'd been healthy until about 2 years ago when on the inside his body seemed to start falling apart. It wasn't anything deadly but it took a toll on his energy and he had to remember his vitamins and medicines every day. He worked all day and usually volunteered two evenings a week. He didn't have the time or energy left over for much except the feeling of loneliness.
As he walked he had an idea. Would she notice the poem was lost and return for it? He would write her a message to show that she wasn't alone in her loneliness and leave it for her…if she even returned at all. He returned to the park bench. He felt as if he'd revealed a part of himself when he wrote:
"I don't know where she is.
I don't know how she smiles.
I don't know what makes her eyes sparkle.
I know I am waiting.
I know my body aches for her!
I know she will make me tingle!"
He laid the paper on the park bench. He knew it would probably just blow away again, but at least the writing of the poem had changed the pace of his day returning home from work. He had voiced hopes he didn't often let himself believe in.
David walked the same path to work the next morning as he did returning from work. He chose this walk because it passed by a pond and made his life seem less hectic. He was watching for the park bench even though he didn't expect to see anything. He saw a child bouncing a ball from a sitting position on the bench. He approached and saw a shoelace tying a folded piece of paper onto the bench. That was unusual. He couldn't help but be drawn to it. He bent to read the sentence on the cover.
"To the friend who wrote the next verse of my poem."
It wasn't possible that the author of the poem had indeed returned and had even written back to him? The boy on the bench didn't pay any attention to him so it obviously wasn't his. His heart skipped a beat as he untied the ribbon. Looking around him he unfolded the note…no kiss on the outside this time. The paper was damp from the dew and sagged between his fingers. He sat down to read it.
"Someone read my thoughts today.
After I lost my poem along the way.
Does his loneliness match my own?
Are these real emotions he's shown?
If you get this and care to write back I will look for your message later today between the two low branches of the oak tree behind this bench. My shoelace can tie it in place."
He sat down, flabbergasted. He was excited yet felt himself relaxing into the shape of the bench. He was certainly going to write back. Part of him wanted to pour out his heart and write and write. As he sat there, he imagined how refreshing it would be to pour it out on paper to a stranger. But he quickly realized that that would be a sure way to blow out the small sparks of a connection that he was having with this stranger. She was reaching out for a connection, and he would try to give it to her and maybe feel a connection himself.
He wanted to be alone and sat behind the tree on the grass as he wrote back:
"I never dreamed that you would really read,
The thoughts I sent off, thinking they would blow away like a seed.
My heart skipped a beat to think I'd connected with you.
I write to you so you know my loneliness is true.
I will return later and look in the same place for a note from you. I hope I can look forward to more messages and will look for something to place our notes in, in case of rain. I will also buy a string so you can have your shoelace back. I hope you haven't lost your shoe."
He tied it to the branch. Walking to work he looked at every woman wondering if she were the author of the note. David thought of the note throughout the day, and left work as early as he could.
He again watched every woman as he walked to the tree, but no one seemed to be watching for him. He pulled a note and the shoelace from the branch. She must have brought paper with her because it wasn't written on scrap paper, but on nice stationary. He wanted to be alone while he read it and answered it. He looked around and found a spot by the pond that was secluded.
He enjoyed what was becoming in his mind a letter, but was really no longer than most memos he received each day at work.
