Wooden Bench Research Paper

Throughout a normal day people tend to forget about the simplicity of things that life has to offer. I am an individual who much rather watch people in silence then face my own struggles in this giant world. While sitting on a wooden bench in the park, people begin to flood the area. A mother on her cellphone talking angely while her child desperately tries to grab her attention, a pet running from their owner to chase the birds, a couple fighting so loudly that they make the trees shake, my little eyes they see it all while sitting on that old wooden bench. The bench is my home, the bench is my friend for we are always together when the days come to an end. We get along so nicely as we watch the people walk and talk. Multiple individuals

People run through life as if there is plenty more to come, but time continues to vanish from us. Time slowly slips away from the people who would stop by and say hi. Shame that they don’t for a little old lady like myself and my pal the bench sure miss seeing their nicer, more sweeter faces. Those kind souls would always stop near my spot and smell the flowers, and they would not just say hello but talk for hours. They were not afraid to talk to someone dirty, smelly, and hungry gal. They knew it was not just about the money, but the memories that we make in life. Those kind people would bring their kids and would share with them valuable lessons about kindness and how it should be, the people now and days at the park lack that and express how to judge before

They see the disgust wash across their faces and the words that flicker across their eyes and hang on their tongue that they want to spit out but they cannot because kids are around. Late at night when slumber takes over our bodies they come and attack. “Get a job you bum!” “ What are you lost?” Words that cut through the heart like a knife, but the visualizations that appear in front of my eyes were far more painful. Images that haunt my mind late at night. Trying desperately to close my eyes to only awake with my pal, my bench, my only true friend. Curling up to my bench tears flood my eyes and stain the wood slightly. My only friend cannot help find my home, where my family really is, lost was a term my brain recited a lot. Alone was something nobody wants to be and yet here we are, my bench and a homeless mess. Hope is all we have