I might be right...

...I might be wrong. This morning I walked out to the park in the rain, wearing my hoodie and a pair of beat-up loafers with no socks. At the track I found a bench under an old London Plane elm. I sat there for an hour, watching the joggers make their way around and around. They wore shorts and sweatshirts and windbreakers, but nothing could protect them when the wicked wind blew the water around. I got pelted with hard drops; I watched them dry and fade away on my jeans.

The pigeons swirled in crazy circles over the playing fields. The school stood like a yellow prison in the background. Why this? Why now? I put my palms to my face and inhaled deeply. I could smell him--the Kiehl's he uses on his skin, the Dolce and Gabanna perfume (woman's of course.)

What's going to happen? I sat on that bench and tried to come to a decision--but about what I didn't know. I feel like I lost something but I don't know what it is. Perhaps that's the price of the blessedness--the blessed joy of waking up, and breathing in the sheets...hello to you, by the window, hello to you!

The return is emptiness. A row of glass bottles filling up with rain.

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