Love Story

There was the scintillating sun across the trees forming playful colloids of light trickling over the bright children running around the park. It was always a picnic for them. Families would settle down with a basket of fruits and food. All of them scattered across the grass and the playground. Their laughs sounded like there was nothing to worry about. Every Sunday would bring in an air around to relax and they would spend some time talking garrulous and chuckling.

I would sit there and soak in the scenery. This was every Sunday where I would sit on the same bench. I could see all I needed to see, children playing with the sand, their parents bathing in the sun and sipping on cold juice, the ice cream truck scoring the crowd a many. My campus would allow us to go outside only on the last day of the week. They told me that it was to get some fresh air and how I could learn to be a good person. It was meant for us to apply what we learned in class. It didn’t feel any different calling any thing that happened in campus a class. They would make it a point that we would learn something new everyday, whether it was a subject or how to make a conversation to befriend someone. It just felt like they built a life for us to lead in such a way that it would be the same life I would lead if I had a family. Ah, what the hell.

All the others would run to the mall or to play in the park nearby but I would make it a point to sit at that bench and watch all of them instead. I really liked it. I could wonder what it would be if my parents hadn’t taken that ride from the beach back to home. Yes, I did have a home once. It ended so swiftly. My peaceful childhood routine. Life succumbed me to another presumably similar one. But I don’t feel like a child anymore.

I loved the summers and hated the winters. Rest of the year would go just fine.

The snow and the cold was an empty scenery. The park was dull and dead and I was distant and dreamy. It was hard to wake up in the cold. Sundays were betraying. Though I would sneak a peek from my window over the leaves and twigs just to find coated ones walking around it, either to pick up groceries or to carry them back to their residences.

The sun and the breeze was a playful scenery. The park was demanding and dazzling and I was divine and dependent. I would look forward to this day weekly. Sundays were a gift. I would peek from my window over my daze and restraints to find a lively song and again I would go to the bench, watching over them and dreaming of mom and dad.

It is the shadows of them behind the curtains of my messy room now. It is in the dreams I would have while walking the lonely alleys of campus in broad daylight. It is in the stars that hang on my bedroom ceiling and dangling lamps from the dark blue sky. It is in the warmth I feel thinking about them in this incessant loneliness. It is that I miss of having and giving that love in their presence.

What was it like? What was it like to love? I can’t really make out. It is so real, like as if it is in front of my eyes. They were there with me. I loved them and now it’s been a long time since I saw that love.

A free breakfast and a free ride to the mall for the theatres. The field trips to the countryside and the random pottery class because we saw the garden and felt like painting it. I remember the tough times. A day before a test in school, a tantrum to get the good part of the dinner every weekend, a brilliant excuse to go for a friend’s birthday party. I couldn’t care less of what was to be, whenever they were with me. It’s been seven years now.

I cannot leave my memories. I feel helpless enough to not forget them. How can I? I feel that letting my episodes of life without them would debase me. I can turn empty, an amalgam of just a meticulous vision and a purposeless soul. These flashes are so wonderful. It feels like home. Now if I decorate my house or look around to find a passion, I would then get lost into what would be with you both being around. From what I heard, we would be walking around that park having a picnic with fresh fruits and good food. It would still feel like home over my room or a habit.

How wonderful it would be to love them. I can’t blame myself. I lost them and I would always keep wishing for them to come back. Such a smile and dreams to conquer, I would still not shy away from admitting how much I think about them.

I am in love with the idea of love. A love between a daughter and her parents. I won’t leave all our memories and the new ones I made about all of us. I surround myself with what I learn and listen from all the children and eavesdropping moments in the park. I can’t be alone. I cannot lose what I remember of you and I cannot live if I leave what I have made you to be in my mind and heart.

I feel love. I am in love with an idea of them because I can’t do anything else to feel like I have a family. To feel complete and warm. It is the only way to know I have a home and my parents. How wonderful isn’t it? It makes one wonder, sure.

This is the one. This is forever. This is true. A love story of me and this world I designed, too substantial to be true.