Years after he left her, people would still find her in the same park–on the same bench. Seasons may pass, and people may come and go, but there she would remain in a standstill; as if time itself is frozen in a delicate balance between memories of the sweet encounter that slowly slip through her mind, and the somber promise of a morrow that never comes.
Years after he left her, people would still find her under the same tree–on her own. Celebrating the falling leaves as she recounted everything she remembered before time took it away from her. Before time dulls the sting and leaves their time together in an elapsed rust.
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