Maybe we need hope.
Buds? A hug? Perhaps some love?
Hate’s sure getting old.
I stand for a while analyzing my reflection in the gloom before me.
There it is, so much of life rolled out like a tired gray carpet.
A few stains are noticeable, along with a small tear here and there.
“No worse for wear,” I mumble to myself.
In the distance, six buildings proudly stand where I’ve worked at one point or another in this time line of a life.
I notice two blocks away, the old senior high rise is still around. I’d often stay there in Grandma’s tiny apartment as a child. She’d spoil me rotten with a fresh candy bowl of chocolate kisses upon each arrival.
And lots of real ones, too, as we’d play in the big park before me.
One block north on the corner, I see the brick apartment building remains where I was treated to the best shrimp omelette I’ve ever eaten on my second date with my late husband.
Thirty years later I can still taste that first warm bite. And the smell of the shrimp sautéing in sweet butter still lingers, too.
Suddenly I find myself smiling again.
I look down at the vacant cars before me.
I’ve pondered some about moving out east, or maybe west.
But perhaps I will stay parked here a little longer.
It is home after all.