A wonderful wormhole
He is old.
His memories a blur.
Sitting down on an old wooden bench amidst a busy avenue washed by sunlight of early spring.
He sighed deeply, and embraced the sounds he once detested – people walking, talking on the phone, kids shouting, playing, birds chirping.
The grief was unbearable.
Loneliness so utter.
Words couldn’t escape his mouth, so he was just there, a pile of sickly old skin and bones, mind blunt as an ancient knife, waiting desperately for something.
Anything.
He could still remember his way home. Not the physical one, oh no.
The real home was where she was. It was a mobile home on two legs, with a sharp mind and loving hands. When they were together it was pure. Complete bliss. She was the antidote for his venomous being, the remedy for his afflictions, but he didn’t see her just as a reference to himself, no, most of all he cherished the fact that she was a wholesome person, quirks, rants, mood swings, anger tantrums, complicated thoughts, stress infused anxieties, hopes, aspirations, dreams.
Dreams.
Oh god.
He was transported.
The school yard was packed with screaming children letting loose on their lunch break.
She was there, jumping rope with two of her friends.
How can he approach her without looking like a weird old man? So he sat on a stone bench and glimpsed from time to time.
It was at once comforting and exhilarating, staring at the past like this. She won't recognize him, surely, she doesn’t even know he exists yet.
On the 5th or 6th glance their eyes met, and he flinched nervously and looked away.
"Hey Mr." she called and walked slowly, confidently towards him.
"Who are you? Haven’t seen you around here before."
"Oh, I'm just… I'm the new janitor, I mean if the school will have me".
"What's your name then Mr.?"
He could feel his heart pounding within his chest.
"I'm Andrew. What's yours?"
"My name is Marla, like my grandma!"
Marla. My Sweet Marla.
"Well good luck with the job Mr. Bye!"
She turned around and went back to her friends. Her prance reminded him of their daughter.
He was sobbing quietly, closing his eyes and letting the wind stroke his face.
"Marla, dear, can you come here for a second?"
"What is it Mr.?
Oh, why are you crying?"
He looked into her eyes, the ones he would later in life get lost in, and said with a shaky voice:
"Listen dear child, you will never see me again, probably, and it may not make sense to you now, but I miss you. I miss you very very much. I just wanted to tell you that, that’s all."
"You're weird!" she said, and ran back.
The old man stayed there, motionless and frozen, for all times, since.
