Red Bench Promise

It wasn't raining that day
Rain was trapped in my eyes

I faked the smile, saying good bye
but I've never been a good liar

Those soothing words you said
I packed neatly along with a handful of hope:
in this park with a red bench, we'll soon meet

On the back of the bench, I sit today
saving my shoes from the splashing mud

as I am worry about them:

how if they get dirty,
then I would stain your jeans

when I run into your warm hug;
isn't it a day for the red bench promise?

The dripping rain streaming down my umbrella

is the only sound I hear for hours

besides another rushing rain, escaping from my eyes
for the red is not anymore the color of the bench...

*written for Creative Writing Ink on October 3rd and Poetry Pantry #74.