The wind suddenly picks up and leaves that were holding hopefully onto anorexic branches were cast down upon you. One leaf catches your eye; it is a soft brown-red, your favourite colour, after blue of course. Seeing it reminds you of the water in the river, roughly the same favourite blue. A woman runs by with her dog, music blaring into her ears. It is hard to tell what kind of person she is. That was always her thing. The people-watching thing. You remembered her calling it research or some other word that should be only associated with school and college.
You see a bench in the distance, one that looks too old even be considered as a historical monument, but you have been walking all night and your legs are aching. While walking towards the bench you notice a football, high up in a leaf-less tree. You remember the day it got stuck up there. You remember the laughter in your little boy's eyes as she tried to retrieve it. Eventually she gave up and retired to the blanket for some strawberries. You can't remember the last time you had a strawberry. Or a cheeseburger. Or a slice of apple pie. You can't even remember the name of that waitress who let you have a plate of fries free. You haven't eaten those in a while either.
Finally, reaching the poor excuse of a bench you realise that your feet have been carrying you in this the one she sat on and told you everything. The one you both sat on when she said yes. You remember the sheer joy on her face when she heard her answer. You remember the most intense, best feeling in the world hit you like a train in that moment right after her answer. This was your bench. Hers and yours.
A man walks past you, holding tightly onto his daughter's hand. The girl seems to want to dive into the cool, blue mirror of a river. Let her go, you think. Let her go, see what happens, take a chance, something great might happen. You might end up with something you only dreamed of. Surfacing from your thoughts, you realise that the daughter has given up her fight and has resigned herself to trying to reach that football. The father lifts her onto his shoulders. Leave it there! You want to shout. You want to tell them to leave it. Go find some other football to play with. Leave that one there.
One day, you'll climb up that tree and fetch the ball. One day, you'll wake-up and think that it was all a dream, because, of course, something that great can only be a dream. Or you'll move on. Remember? You tried that once. Look where that got you. You could have had so much longer. Maybe you should have chased after that taxi all those years ago. She might still be here. They both might still be here. In the sound of screeching tires. Gone. Both of them.
You don't drive anymore. You don't drink anymore. You don't really do anything anymore. People tried to understand. They can try but they can't succeed. You can't even succeed. Getting to your feet you walk slowly back through the park, passing the football tree, which will one day return to just a tree. But not today.