it's you but it's not you

4th time seeing you

My diary has been feeling up with you so this time I'll try not to make it about you. Well try and fail anyway.
In the meadow just underneath the woods there's an old wooden bench. I wouldn't even call it a bench, it's more like an old piece of wood on a little pedestal. But it's a place. A place where the wanderer takes a break. A place where friends chat. A place where lovers stare in the horizon hand in hand. And a place where a lonely soul stops.
The old bench is not special but the place is. You sit down and lock eyes with the puffy or maybe even stormy clouds for there are always some. Then your sight wonders to the tiny houses on the faraway hills and you feel you could pick them just like the flowers that surround you. Behind you there's a green green forest. Some might find it relieving and relaxing, others feel anxious with a dark monster creeping nearby, breathing down their necks.
So the bench offers everything. To me it's a place to think. But now it's more and it's less. I watched the horizon with you there. So whenever I am there it just calls for you. But it knows. It feels it like I do. You won't come. You won't caress it. And you won't caress me.