Barcelona

On a bench of worn wood we sit
this warmish October evening.
Alone in the park,
but for a bird here and there,
and the chatter of Barcelona in the background.
Here I am.
With you.
After all this time of rejecting each other
we have finally found silence
underneath the broken wings of hope.
Will you look at me?
Why do words fail me?
We had to try.
Where is the longing now?
Holding hands feels like letting go.
We saw the darkness
that comes after the light,
and we went for it.
Did we go where there is no feeling?
Light.
I look into the setting sun,
then I close my eyes
and try to keep that burning image.
Warmth.
All the delusions seem to fly away
now that winter comes.
Eventually, I get up and leave.
Will you still be there
next time?