Bench 
It was dark.  I sat on the park bench, alone, crying.  I sat there - 
freshly wedded, freshly bedded, freshly deflowered.  My husband slept in 
our room, on our nuptial bed, snoring drunkenly, sharing it with a pink 
wet spot.

Tincture of lost innocence, lost hopes, lost dreams.

A man walked by, stopped, turned, and stared.

His eyes revealed nothing, yet hinted at everything - mystery, romance, 
danger.  My heart stopped, my tears stopped, and I stared back, too 
surprised to run, which is what I knew I should do.

He sat beside me.  I stared.  My objections were all silent, my 
rejection unvoiced.

His eyes held me, captivated me, sent me on a journey I'd never been on 
before.  He was blonde, he was tall, he was strong, he was silent.  His 
eyes spoke to me of my inner thoughts, of my hidden desires, of my 
needs.  Somewhere inside me a voice was screaming for me to flee.

He revealed himself.  On the bench, in the dark, in the park.  Then he 
revealed me.  I saw myself, reflected in his eyes.  I wonder what he saw 
reflected in mine.  He lifted me, he lowered me.  An eternity later he 
was gone.  I repaired myself and returned to my husband.

I lay there in bed, sharing it with a snoring groom, a drying pink wet 
spot, and a growing white wet spot.  I wondered.  

I wondered who he was.  I wondered what his voice sounded like.  I 
wondered if he had dreams.

I wondered whose baby I would carry.

This morning I shared breakfast with a smelly, grumpy, unshaven, 
decidedly hungover lout, who belched his approval of the previous 
evening.  I tried to recognize the clean, handsome, delightful man I'd 
married, but failed.

I thought of the man in the park.

I wondered if he would return.

Tonight, on the bench, in the park, in the dark, I will be waiting.