estirose

Pink umbrella memory:

The park is empty, and my wrist tired, but I don't care.
Does it really matter anymore? Will anybody be here to notice that I took one last ride on a roller coaster?
I really don't think so. Nobody noticed me before and nobody will remember me if I go.
No friends, no enemies.
Did my life really matter?
It's threatening to rain, but I don't even bother to open the umbrella hanging from my wrist. I just keep walking.
In my path, there is an old woman sitting on a bench, quite alone. She must be ready to go too.
But, for the moment, I slide my umbrella off of my wrist. I just want someone to understand before I leave.
She feels warm, even though I'm not touching her, as she takes the umbrella.
It is hard to feel sad when she smiles.