You sat down on the bench by yourself. Just to sit. Not to wait for a bus or eat lunch fast before something. You just sat.
I would have run to the swings. But you found the one bench where you can see the whole pond, and you stayed. There is a dog splashing. There is an old man throwing bread. You saw them. I know you saw them, because you smiled a little, the smile you do when nobody is watching.
You did not look at your glowing rectangle once. Not once! I counted.
There is a green worm coming down on a thread right next to your hand. I bet you don't see it yet. Look. Look. It's dangling right there, spinning a tiny bit in the wind, and it has no idea how far up it started.
I used to think being big meant you never got to stop. That there was always somewhere to be. But you found a wooden bench with a bird poop on one end and a heart carved in the other, and you decided the somewhere was here.
You still know how to sit and watch a pond. You never lost that.
Can we stay a little longer?
The worm is almost down.