The taste of dread fills my mouth, my teeth grind against one another. I do not want to go back, there is nothing for me there. A putrescent bench, a broken chair, and unachievable memories. I will never top what I can recall, but that's alright. The bitter feelings are beginning to subside. The broken bench grew fruit of grand flavor that I picked and savored. The bench may now grow pleasant memories for others to enjoy.