Once again she came to the park. The leaves had mostly fallen and the branches reached out to the grey sky with tortured desire. The park benches were vacant, not even the birds came by begging for their crumbs.
This was the last time she would come hoping to find him with his sketch pad furiously drawing the soul of the world in his corner of Central Park. She longed for the taste of his lips, for the warmth of his embrace, to know that she was not entombed in this steel and glass cage, that through his eyes she could fly to herself!
But the hours passed, like jewels that fade, and all that remained was her one last gesture. She took out the letter and lit it on fire, and watched the smoke drift up!
-I.A.T.
