An Old Man Returned to the Same Park
Every morning, I followed the same routine — breakfast, a Sinatra record, and a walk to the park.
I sat on a bench where Clara and I had once shared laughter and dreams.
Even after she was gone, I returned daily, hoping to feel her presence.
One rainy morning, a little girl named Leah noticed my shivering hands and placed her jacket across my lap.
On the collar was a golden “C” and an oak leaf — the same design Clara once wore.
Curiosity led me to find Leah again, this time with her grandmother.
To my shock, it was Clara, older but unmistakable.
Misunderstandings had kept us apart,
but Leah had unknowingly been the bridge that reunited us.
Now, our days are filled with stories, meals, and laughter.
The park bench remains, but I no longer sit there alone.
