The bench is a guilty pleasure, where moments are allowed to last; the bench stays fixed, while you travel to the past.
A reflection, but not set in, a linear or mirror truth, but a quantum-contemplative, acceptance without proof.
The bench stays still, as realities and timelines shift and sway, this is why most feel unsettled on the bench, and choose a short stay.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem