In highschool, we used to sit on the old, metal bench and laugh for hours at the falling leaves, the passing people, the squirrels that scurried for food on the ground. We had nothing to do before and nothing to do after besides to sit in each other’s presence, living in the present. We shared space, breath, laughter, and odd looks from passerby. We didn’t care, though. We were young, and we had no conception of death or what might happen to us throughout our lives.

Well, today I walked past where that bench used to be, and it was gone. There’s a playground there now. It was empty when I walked past, as it’s winter, but I suppose it’s usually filled with laughter and carefree kids, as we used to be. The bench is gone and so are you, but that same air space remains, holding memories and visions of two different boys who lived and loved and cared.