The Photograph

I went back to our sanctuary
Amongst the greenery
Where our initials on the tree
Marked this our private property

Our white wooden bench, empty
Calling out for long-lost company
Forever waiting patiently
For us who loved so faithfully

Now here I stand aged and weary
My shaky spotted hand holding up my memory
Attempting to align it with the bench, carefully
I can almost hear you laugh, loud and merrily

The warmth of our hands wrapped tenderly
You whisper softer than the buzzing bee
The blue-bird's song interrupts my dream
Returned me to my true reality

I went back to our sanctuary
Amongst the greenery
A feeling known only by the lonely
Through blurried eyes, I still kept smiling

Dear Photograph,

Thank you for everything.