The Bench

• Self help

								
The Bench

If you climb up the hill at the top of my town, you’ll see a bench. 
It is an ordinary bench, with a streetlamp overhead.
The people in my town like this bench; it was built in memory of a man who did something. 
I do not know what he did.
The people in my town like the bench, not because it was built in memory of a man, but because it's there.
And it's there because people like it.
I go up there sometimes to ponder.
I travel along the twisted path through the twisting trees to the bench.
My legs ache as I reach the bench; they burn as though I had waded through molasses.
I went up to the bench one night. 
It was eleven twenty-nine. Post-meridiem.
I sat on that bench for what seemed like forever. 
I stared at the stars, I do not know why they stray so far from one another. 
Maybe they loved each other in another life.
Maybe if I stare at them long enough, they'll grow closer.
I closed my eyes and listened to the sounds of the night. 
The bench listened, too.
A voice appeared from the dark.
“I like to listen to the trees as well,” said the voice.
“I am not listening to the trees,” I responded.
The voice laughed, “My apologies.”
“That is alright,” I said.
“What could you be doing, if not listening to the trees?”
“Listening to the night.”
“Does the night listen to you?”
“How do you mean?”
“You seem to love the night.”
“I do.”
“Does it love you back?”
“I do not know.”
I got up from the bench and walked to my house.
As I walked, I thought about the voice. What was so special about the trees?
I went to sleep that night thinking about the voice. Why the trees?
The next night, I went up to the bench. 
I walked through the trees.
They whispered things to one another.
I thought I could hear them laughing with each other.
I sat on the bench and looked at the trees.
I look at the trees often now.
They look like dancers.
Looking at the trees has made me hear them.
I close my eyes and listen to the trees.
I do not listen to the night anymore, as it does not love me. 
“Do you hear the trees?” asked the voice.
“I do.”
“Good.”
I sat with the voice for what seemed to be an eternity. Perpetuity.
I love the trees.
I do not know if they love me back, but the voice loves them, so I do too.
“I like to look at the stars,” the voice said.
“As do I,” I said.
In truth, I had forgotten about the stars.
I had forgotten the way they looked so lonely.
How dull they looked under the streetlamp.
I looked at the stars. 
But now they look so heavenly.
I stood from the bench and walked home.
It was late.
Twelve twenty-nine. Ante-meridiem.
I did not sleep well.
I asked my friend if he had ever heard a voice.
He said no.
I did not go to the bench for many weeks.
I stayed home instead.
I stayed home and did nothing.
Doing nothing was lonely.
The bench must have been lonely as well.
I do not know. 
I went back up to the bench one night. 
I traveled along the winding path through the forest.
The path looked so beautiful.
The stones fit with such perfection.
I sat on the bench.
I had missed the bench.
I wonder if it has missed me.
I sat on the bench.
I looked at the trees.
I saw birds fly through the starlit sky.
I liked the birds.
“Do you hear the sun setting, the moon rising?” the voice asked.
“I do not,” I said.
“Why?”
“I did not know the sun was setting.”
“Do you hear it now?”
“Does it set?”
“It does.”
I closed my eyes and listened.
I heard the trees talking to each other. Laughing.
I heard the birds whistling to each other.
I did not hear the sun.
Does it hear me?
Does it hear me even though I do not hear it?
I love the sun.
I love the trees.
I love many things.
“I am not happy,” I said to the voice.
“I know,” it said.
“I wish I was loved.”
“I love you.”
“You do not exist.”
“Love is not bounded by what is real.”
“How do I feel happy?”
“I do not know.”
“I see.”
“But that is okay.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
I tore my body from the bench. 
I stood and listened to the trees.
I listened to the grass.
I listened to the birds.
For they love me.
I do not think of the night anymore.
The night does not love me.
So I do not love it.
It does not know I exist.
So I focus on other things.
I focus on the things that love me.
I looked at the bench.
And I looked at the stars.
They seem closer now.
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