A butterfly flies past me and how I long to hear its wings beat. I sit on the cold bench and hope for some comfort from this speechless, unmoving companion. Bursts of green represent the nature, the green plants. Crisp, fresh beauty…A mere allusion for the parents. The trees bend in several different positions, their flamboyant leaves dangling above. I feel sorry for the leaves. My eyes always work their way to a neon orange flower, a speck of orange in the sea of brown and green. The tallest of them all, it stands shyly with a frown. I long for the flower to be happy for it looks alone, searching. Some stone benches are decorated with mosaic tiles, yellow tiles shaped into sunflowers glued onto the humble stone.
Click here for Memory Part III.
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