The park bench was covered with the overgrown underbrush of the park. It was wild now, the park, from disuse and neglect. The animals had reclaimed it for there own, and any sense of humanity, like this bench, was being slowly devoured by the plants and the leaves. Slowly engulfed, destroyed, and then gone forever.
I stared at the park bench, thinking of a time when happy couples would have sat there, hand in hand. Or perhaps an old man, watching his grandchild play amongst the trees in the green grass. Or maybe an author, a muse, sitting and waiting for inspiration to hit them as they watch the day and people go by.
People don’t come here anymore. Writers don’t write anymore. Lovers don’t love anymore. Grandparents don’t care to see their grandchildren anymore, and neither do the children care to see them.
In a world of hate, we have lost so much. I turn, looking around me, and wonder how this could have happened. How humanity could have retreated behind hard cement walls and forget beauty, forget love.