The Bench, 1882 Vincent van Gogh

the bench

The bench holds a few memories of you and me 

in pomerance park where we once sat 

you told me a story about a girl you cheated on 

apologizing consistently 

but i wasn’t that girl 

why were you apologizing to me? 

 

you asked me if it was okay for you to take a smoke break 

pulling out a cigarette box 

red and white 

marlboros were your favorite 

but the smell of the ash was not mine. 

why did you ask me if it was okay if you knew it wasn’t? 

 

at the bench you told me about her 

a name i forced myself to forget 

because remembering 

would make me feel like i have competition

and everytime i compete with someone else 

i never win. 

why did you never focus on me? 

 

under the tree

we called it our tree 

you held my hand for the first time 

and told me about the way you liked to intertwine your fingers 

it was the same way you did it with her 

 

the roots seemed better connected than we ever were 

underneath our soles of our shoes my soul broke 

every time you mentioned her. 

 

now i sit on the bench alone 

wondering if you ever got what you wanted. 

did you ever want me or were you always going to be hung up on her? 

– j.ds

 

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