Always Here

It was the twentieth time that the man entered the park, at least a thousand miles from his home. Ignoring the lovers holding hands, the families picnicking, the children playing, he found that special bench and sat down on it.

I’m here, he says. And someone replies. I’ve been waiting for you. Thanks for coming. Some park-goers didn’t mind the man who seemed to be mumbling to himself. A few others smiled knowingly.

Slowly, he starts to talk, like meeting an old friend. He chuckles here and there, obviously amused by a joke only he knows. He relates his woes, his hopes and his dreams. The voice offers words of comfort, and shares in his joy.

It all started a few years ago. Visiting relatives was boring, so he decided to head to the park. On the same bench, he heard the voice. At first, he passed it off as a hallucination, but eventually he started to converse with the unseen female, with her talking back.

It’s lonely being here, she says. People think I’m not here. I’m not even sure I’m here.

You’re here, he replies. As long as I’m here, you definitely exist.

This story was related to me by a good friend. He says that the girl sends her regards too.