Every step I take as I walk on the hard, concrete path is mechanic. I know this place by heart; I go here at every waking moment.
I hear a mixture of sounds that could only be of happiness – the shouts of children playing (and of their mothers calling them), the chirps of the birds, the whistle of the wind, the barks of the dogs, the footsteps of people… some swift, some gentle… and the buzz of their conversations.
This place is my sanctuary, I think, as I breathe the fresh scent of the early morning breeze, that reminded me so much of her sweet breath when she used to plant soft kisses on my cheeks and lips.
As I feel the cool wind touch my arms, I remember the feeling of her skin when she used to tap my arm and tell me, “I’m still here;” or when she would hug me when I cried at night when the darkness became monotonous, it was too much; or the feel of her hand as she held mine when we walked through this very same park.
Everything feels the same, but something is wrong.
Maybe I miss the sound of her voice as sweet as honey, telling me stories that for a moment, gave me sight.
I take a few more careful steps and I trip on something – a cat, a rock, a dog, a person’s foot – I don’t even know. I used to be able to tell but now I can’t.
She’s gone and the darkness became what it was – just darkness.