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.