The Park

The sunlight
Spilled across
The front of her dress,
Blanching it,
Tinting the already
Bright colour.

She was sitting
On a park bench,
Reading a novel,
Engrossed in the story,
Written on page,
Painted on the canvas
Of her imagination.

He would see
Her there everyday
At lunch time.
Like him,
She was escaping the city,
Finding refuge in the park,
Ignoring the buildings
Towering over head.

He wanted to
Meet her,
Befriend her,
Perhaps…
Just perhaps,
Love her.

But his own thoughts,
His own fears
Kept him cemented
To his park bench,
Trying to read
His own novel,
Stealing peeks at her.

He told himself
That she had a boyfriend,
That she was married,
That she was gay,
That she would not be
Interested.

He told himself
These lies.
Lies till they were
Proven to be truths.
Truths till they were
Proven to be lies.

Then one day,
He saw her looking
At him,
Then smile,
Before looking away.

It was a smile
That bade her to rise,
To walk the few steps
Between them.

With book in hand
And smile on face,
He introduced himself
To the woman who
Brought him to the park.