I walk slowly through the park I’ve walked for years. When I was younger I would play in this park, but now that I am older I walk dreaming. I dream more than I do anything else. My mom tells me that the only things I do more than dream are breathing and eating.
I sit on the same bench I’ve sat for months now. I think about which college I’ll go to after high school. I think about where I will live when I am older.
Today I watch a rose. I think of how much beauty there is in a rose. The vibrant red rose reminds me of a painting I’ve seen once. I want to take it home with me but I don’t.
Another boy sits beside me. He is looking at the rose, but also watching me. I glance at him as I watch the rose. Our eyes meet. I wonder if we’ve met before. He smiles. I smile.
He comments upon the rose. I comment on the rose. We both enjoy to watch the rose. We both smile.
I wonder if this is love. I look at him. He looks back at me. I look at the rose. I fear it could be love. I fear what this love would mean to me: to us. I look at him. He smiles. Maybe he knows what I think? Maybe he thinks what I think?
I watch the rose. I want to watch him but an elderly couple walks past the bench. Do they suspect the feelings I have at this moment? Do they suspect that I have sat on this bench for months hoping, longing, to meet someone like the boy sitting beside me now?
Once we are along again I look at the boy. Every time I look at him he is watching me and he smiles each time. A hand upon my thigh, a look in his eyes, and a smile I give in return leads to us walking away from the park. Before we leave he removes the rose from the bush and hands it to me.
We stand beneath tall trees. Our bodies inch closer together. I am nervous. He appears nervous. Our lips come closer to meeting. My heart races. Our lips touch. My hand lingers down, past the obstacles of clothing, my hand reaches inside until I find it waiting. Our kiss is deep. I feel his desire. I feel my desire rising.
The sound of approaching people stops our kiss. We break apart and he runs off. I sit on the bench wondering if he’ll return. I hold the rose in hand. I smell its smell. I imagine the feel of him as I close my eyes.
I stand and leave the park. Shall I see him again? I only have the rose to remind me it was more than a dream.