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  • Writer's pictureRobin WillowMoon

A Lonely Park Bench for One

Updated: Oct 6, 2019

I’m back! Where have I been you ask? I finally did something big for me. Just for me. I had a surgery I have put off for a very long time that will improve my health and help me with a problem that has plagued me for quite some time. Why now you ask? Because I finally figured out I was worth it!



During the post operative time while I was forced to rest and let my body heal, all sorts of fragmented thoughts from the past came up. In the beginning I played “Whack-a-Mole” with the thoughts, not wanting to let any unfinished business from the “Ex” creep into my new space. But in the end, what you resists persists, so I just let them come, and asked my body to release them as I healed.



I had hoped that thoughts about him would stop popping up in my conscious mind, but like the ocean tides, they still roll in every so often. I hate that, but it just is. What I was left thinking about him was this; imagine being sixty one years old and having almost no one who cares that you exist. I often wondered when karma was going to catch up with him; in this thought, I think it has. The only people that care that he is alive is his girlfriend Norma and his two daughters. How terribly sad to have lived on this earth sixty one years, and have only three people who care about you. Sadly, truth be told, one of his two daughters has been so badly damaged by his special kind of love, that as she battles her own demons, I think she is torn thinking she has to love him out of obligation, but not really “liking” who he is. My heart hurts for her. .



I envision him sitting all alone at the end of his life; a big park bench for one, with no one left who cares. He often complained that friends he had along the way in life would just stop talking to him, and thought that was odd. Even two of his childhood friends that he had when I met him have since stopped talking with him, the crack addict that worked for the circus, and his sixty one year old virgin friend who is having a secret affair with a famous singer in his head.



I am getting to the point where I truly don’t wish him any ill anymore. I think the life he lives is ill enough. I am eternally grateful that I don’t have to live that life, and eternally grateful that he is out of mine.



If you think of your life as a book, then he was just one chapter of mine; just one small chapter out of fifty nine years. Somehow that has made it easier for me to finally let it go. As I continue to heal and write this next chapter, I am going to be much kinder to myself, and only allow the very best into my life. Why, because I am worth it.

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