Waiting

This was written last spring as an assignment in my creative writing class.

 

It was warm.

Smooth gliding heat

That lets you forget it's not summer

yet.

The sun beat down and

underneath the shattering sound

of music from worn out headphones,

I could hear people.

Children,

Dogs,

Parents running after both.

Yet still somehow quiet.

The bench beneath me was still

Cool from morning due,

And an unusual bee flew from

Each shoe to awaiting flowers.

A note book lay unopened upon my lap,

Forgotten in unexplainable lost thoughts,

Without a pen in sight.

And every few seconds I looked in that

Direction.

Waiting by myself in a not too crowded park

For something, or someone,

I wasn't sure.