Yesterday, the bench was old.

Sky blue paint peeling and littering the ground in pieces

Splintering my nervous hands and her bare legs

Yesterday, she kissed me right here

Oblivious to the world while I whispered sweet everything's

Promising her the moon and heavens where they hung

Yesterday, the stars fell

Their fire doused with her tears as she told me

And my heart shatttered like the glass of my car when I punched the shotgun window

Today, the bench looks new

It holds the false promise of a new beginning

The white paint, still wet, attempting to conceal the roughed and weathered wood

But the paint can't hide the bend of the bench, dipping down in the middle where we sat

The paint can't hide each knot of wood, hard and grainy, the largest one just above the right armrest

The paint can't hide every creak and groan of the ancient oak that it is built with

Today, the bench looks new, white paint still wet

But yesterday, the bench was old.