So I sit here like I have every day since the day that the unmentionable happened.
In this park. On this bench. Staring at these people as they pass by.
Staring at these mothers, just getting a few minutes away from their dysfunctional families to take a jog in this park.
Staring at the bachelors with their dogs, enjoying the weather after a moderately stressful afternoon at their day job.
Staring at these teenagers, hand in hand, loving, laughing, enjoying.
Staring, but not really looking.
What has always caught my attention, still, to this day, catches my attention.
The field before me, past the people, that holds the oak tree.
The rather large oak tree.
The mysterious oak tree.
The oak tree with leaves bigger than my hands.
The oak tree whose roots are pushing out of the ground bringing the dark, rich, earthy dirt along with them.
This is what has caught my attention every day since that day.
I look at the tree, and all living things seem to materialize.
All else disappears, leaving only me, and the tree.
So I sit here staring up at the huge oak tree, it staring back.
My wondrous stare, has it confused, as it glowers back at me.
Reminding me of who stands behind me, no one.
Reminding me of who is left, no one.
Reminding me of the guilt I have felt every day, since that day.
My heart skips beats as I sit here.
The chilled autumn breeze numbing my red cheeks.
Burning the inside of my nose as i breathe in.
Holding conversations with my mousy brown hair,
As I sit here, my tree looking daggers through me.
Wondering who else has been friends with the tree.
Wondering who else has had conversations with the tree.
Wondering who else has felt this way.
Somehow, the tree has kept me alive.
With all its menacing stares,
And gawking, sneering, at my poor and worthless soul.
Looks that can kill, can save lives.