The Revolution of Life

We all start our life alone. Then, when we die, we are alone, removed from others. Or, in my case, when someone leaves and a gaping hole is all that remains. These thoughts and others bounce back and forth in my mind as I stroll through Public Gardens, a captivatingly beautiful park in Boston. There is no place like Massachusetts during autumn, the crisp bite of the air that invigorates you as soon as you step outside, complementing a myriad of copper-brushed leaves descending to the beaten walkway. The damp air mixed with fresh pumpkin and cinnamon creates a tantalizing aroma.

The beauty of nature is its cycles, its predictability of knowing that you will never be stuck too long. Such applies to even the most humid places and frigid mountainous regions because no one temperature is constant. Knowing mother nature’s ways soothes me when I find myself in moments like these, where I am in a dizzying turmoil over my feelings, missing those which we cannot bring back. 

Tossing my head up to the hazy sky, with hues of apricot and amber dancing around the setting sun, I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to engrain the last of autumn in my mind. My sorrow keeps building despite knowing he would eventually go. I just want to know why. The wind whips ebony locks around my face, obscuring tears gliding down my rosy cheeks, blurring my vision. 

“Hey! Watch it!”

I glance up, and before me stands a man. He gazes into my teary eyes, his bronze curls framing viridescent orbs. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going,” I mumble. 

His eyes soften, and the rigid stature of his frame loosens as he says, “I’m not going to ask why since you probably don’t want to tell some stranger who just bumped into you,” he pauses, a hint of a smile appearing on his face, “but I know a great place around here that has killer clam chowder.”

A little grin, once foreign but now welcome, graces me. Maybe it’s not so lonely after all.