And so she sits. Pit of nerves in her stomach, wishing she were someone else. Soft breeze, warm sun. laughs, chatter, children float across the soft green park. Benches and tables suitable for repose and contemplation. She should be grateful to have this day, this time, this wooden friend to sit upon but instead of enjoying her mind wanders. People are staring,judging. Perhaps not her but people always stare and judge, She knows because she does it. Constantly judging. You look fat you look tired these clothes are all wrong your pants are too tight your shoes too scuffed. Worthless, thoughtless, wordless, jobless. So much tie and energy spent on everything that is unimportant.
Maybe someday her eyes will open and she will have grown, have succeeded. Maybe she is on the cusp of who she is supposed to be! Maybe we're all on the cusp of who we're supposed to be. I'm not supposed to be there; waking, living, loving, enjoying, never compromising. Until then she will nuzzle up to the wooden park bench and bask in the sun - her only comfort and only warmth. Wood supports sun beams shine people forget, wane, think too much or not enough they are not there Only she. Only she and the soft green grass.
[Apparently I was in a dark mood... huh.]