We watched our children at play
Running and laughing and jumping
Like miniature, happier versions of ourselves.
I point to the brown-haired boy, whispering softly
As you lean in to embrace my words.
Your face radiates burnt-orange happiness.
Reality then sweeps through this park
Like a harsh, cold winter storm.
These are not our children after all.
These toddlers who play before us
Belong to others who sit on nearby benches
Watching our envy at them and theirs.
We sit quietly now, our moods gray
And watch our make-believe family.
They play together while we face our truth.
We walk hand-in-hand, away from the children.
A quick parting kiss, more whispers
And then I watch as you drive off to you and yours.
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