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The Living Poetry prompt – bench, rain

Continents apart day after day, “When you come back, I’ll be here.” I remember you said.

I am standing here foolishly holding onto a distant promise soaked in the winter rain.

The bench is painted red.

Is it a sign for good luck or just man made passion to hide the worn-out memory?

We need to be sure there is nothing left to say, to explain, to retain.

Pain, I finally ready to let go.

It shivers out of my heart into the cold.