009.

[fabriclies]

i sit on the bench,
and i match a name
to a stranger's face,
draw a story
for the shadowed boy
that passes me by.

Comments

[katsudono]

the bench grows lonely when it gets colder and only those with no homes stick by it, newspaper crinkling inside clothing with every shift.

it pains you to leave the bench when instead you perch on you rooftop, waist up over the edge, surveying the crowds of people below. but it's harder to make up stories, easier to pretend one of them is someone you once knew, so you go back to the bench.

offer a coffee to the man there, and you sit with him, and talk of a past long gone.