"i don't mind that you erm- are- mourning... but- but don't you think that you can leave the bench upstairs? there's still bird poop on it..."
you sigh, amused by your mother's obliviousness. "no, mother." you smirk in her direction, though your eyes don't move from the silky, wooden bench. "this is my anchor... and a ship without its anchor will be lost at sea. of course," you mock, laughing poshly, "you would know nothing of the sort. you've probably never felt such intense emotions such as the ones this bench grants me."
your mother rolls her eyes and turns on her heel. "whatever. we're having lasagna for dinner." at that, she storms out of the room in frustration, though you believe her true emotions to be mere jealousy.
you listen to the crash bang boom of her lemon pepper steppers, kissing the hardwood stairs on her way up to the kitchen. you smile, now turning your attention back to your bench.
a bench cannot be eaten...
"so, how long were you there, stationed at the park?"
"three weeks. i was considered a newbie among my peers. i was cast out, stranded on my little corner of the park. a bench with no shade, no tree casting over it. a failure." her face shone as the yellowed light of your room danced on its features. the youth of her structure was inevitable, her eyes bright and stain dark.
you smile, your horrendous british teeth jarring out from your chapped lips. (you lost your eos balm in your sheets.) "thank you, for finding me," you whisper, delicately plunking your ass down on her. "no, thank you."
