There are those in perpetual motion.

Whose eyes never deviate from the horizon of the city and of their mind.

Who walk with no degree of ambivalence.

“Not all who wander are lost”.

They certainly do not wander, nor are they lost.

They are businessmen and women with backs and lips flat like sidewalks.

They are not subject to mesmerism.

This isn’t a wonderland, it is a park.

This isn’t a haven, it is 843 acres of grass in a sea of concrete.

And there are those who are alone.

Who for a few minutes feel a false sense of solitude in a city of millions.

They walk between the carriages and paths and children

Unmoored.

Some are serene.

They sit with their backs against the trees, no company but the sun.

They call family and friends and lovers and you hear their laughs roll across the hill where you sit.

Their smiles are uninhibited.

Some are trying to escape.

They put their head in their hands and sigh when they think no one is looking.

They sit on the park benches and fix their gaze on the ground like they will find answers in the stone.

They walk a paradoxical walk in which they have the purpose of having no purpose.

Their thoughts are far beyond this land of grass and concrete.

You hope life has been fair to them.

And then there are those that are in love.

Riding in the carriages

Walking hand in hand

Laying on the hills together.

He moves a strand of hair behind her ear and rests his palm on the nape of her neck

She smiles at him bemused and lays her head in his lap

He looks at her with understanding and takes her hand in his

She points to the sky above and he clasps her finger in his hand and kisses it gently.

You watch and you are reminded that people are mainly good

That love is pure and can redeem us.

And then there’s you.

The girl who watched it all.

You wonder what they would say about you,

And if you would like the stories they told.