Lonely Bench

Hey girl sitting alone on the park bench reading a book.
You probably didn't notice me, tall, lanky,
awkward kid with glasses and a baseball cap,
black wires going from my pocket to my ears as I listened to Don McLean,
leaning against the giant oak tree twenty feet to your right.
But I noticed you, sitting alone on the brown bench.
How could I miss your sunny brown hair, converse on your feet,
heart drawn on your jeans with black sharpie, and cute smile
every time you read something interesting. But what I especially loved
was the fact that you sat all the way to one side of the bench,, not in the middle.
As if you sat in an open invitation for someone to join you and talk.
I wanted to walk over and sit next you, close but not to close, and point out the beautiful wildflowers lining the fence across the way.
No doubt you in your infinite wisdom already noticed them as they danced with the wind, but it would have been something to smile about together.
I leaned against the ancient oak for song after ancient song until you finally left.
It was only then that I had the courage to sit in the empty seat on that old bench.

Every Saturday since I've sat there, on the far side, leaving your seat open, hoping you would return.

Hoping you had more courage than I.