She sat down on that park bench. She’s holding a pen and with a notebook on her lap. Everything was occupied except the place where she is. People just came passing by and she just keeps on looking around, blankly.
As she opened her notebook and started to write, he sat beside her – no, on the other edge of the bench. He’s holding a camera and browsing through the photos he took and she is just seeing him from the corner of her eyes. They didn’t talk. They silently do their own stuff. They were so distant. But she feels the sadness in his heart; it keeps on resonating. She started writing a poem, a poem of comfort found in strangeness. Words kept on flowing and she keeps on writing. That was the first time she’s written something for someone. As she stood, she tears the page where she wrote the poem and handed it to him. He was surprised. And she left.