I sit on this park bench next to the silent playground
with nothing keeping me company
apart from the ice cream in my hand and
the ghost of your presence.

The things I could’ve said dissolve on my tongue.

The absence of laughter and mindless conversation
feels thick in the atmosphere, made by
humid air and
heavy storm clouds.

Ultimatums and broken promises; my blood should seethe underneath my skin,
yet it merely flows
with quiet affliction.

Anxious eyes and disappointed breaths
invade my memories if you:
of cruising with the windows down and music that was too loud;
of sitting together in silence while I cried over a boy.

I still sit on this park bench
on warm summer nights
as the moon greets her little stars
and sits with them; content.

You can’t fill the empty space next to me,
but the ice cream still tastes the same.