Two men. Sunset.
A park bench, gray and weathered.
They sit.
If friends, they are stone.
Silence is a heavy, shared thing.
They talk of old rains and bad knees.
The words are short.
They do not need to fill the air.
If strangers, they are glass.
They tap the edges to see if they break.
“Cold,” one says.
“Late,” the other answers.
They trade small coins of talk.
Then they walk away.
Sometimes they say nothing.
The sun goes down.
The bench holds them both.
It is enough.
Feb 3
Feb 3, 2026 at 7:46 PM UTC
Two men. Sunset.
A park bench, gray and weathered.
They sit.
If friends, they are stone.
Silence is a heavy, shared thing.
They talk of old rains and bad knees.
The words are short.
They do not need to fill the air.
If strangers, they are glass.
They tap the edges to see if they break.
“Cold,” one says.
“Late,” the other answers.
They trade small coins of talk.
Then they walk away.
Sometimes they say nothing.
The sun goes down.
The bench holds them both.
It is enough.