I already wrote on this topic. It seems like life often relives itself. Have I seen this person, walked this road, read this sentence? What makes it matter? What makes it stick with us? Moments are all we have.
I sat here when I got the phone call saying you were hurt. And however much I tried to move I couldnt. The bench and me were one entity, and when I tried to move, my legs felt heavy as if the whole weight of the wood was part of me. The slower I moved the more ok you would be when I got to you, right?
The benches in the family court corridor and the pews in the cathedral just across Columbus Circle are the same. But in the courthouse they’re arranged against the walls. So the scared and angry and resigned and hopeful clients who choose to sit until their case is called, sit in the narrow corridor facing each other, rather than facing the gothic chancel and high altar like they do each Sunday.
a bench is a place to sit and a place you could possibly read. Bench rythmes with wench. I don’t have my own bench but I know some people that do. there is one outstide my apartment. That handle rusted off and it was crazy, someone could’ve fallen. It’s not my problem though cuz It aint my bench, wench. Ha love having ya around.
I think immediately of all the canteen benches in school. Of all the times we spent there, eating, drinking, having fun, chatting. Sometimes I wonder if we ever really cherished the times we had there, the carefree times as compared to how we have to deal with the realities of life now. How many times had I sat there just wasting my time away? What could I have accomplished by now? Sometimes I wonder.
Benches can be fun in your yard. People usually don’t sit in them but it looks nice to think you CAN sit in them. I really don’t have much more to say about benches, other than I wish I had a few more in my yard. I have plenty in my house, two, plus one is going into my barn.
I was sitting on a bench at the park near my house one day, just watching life. I do that a lot. I observe and contemplate what comes and goes around me. Anyway, it was a cold but sunny winter day and I was not yet so sure about my day. Until…
This is art, it comes from within, it’s just whatever, whenever. Just expression, nothing is real in this case, not even me. Do you get it? I wouldn’t, but it is as real as you want to make it. This is me just scrawling some words on paper and this is what I can call art, because I can’t draw or paint.
I sat on the bench and stared blankly at the park in front of me. Would she show up? Was this all just a mistake? Why was I even here right now? I fiddled with the box in my hands. The cool hardness of the bench made it difficult to think straight.
park bench. lonely. awkward sitting there. when people sit on benches they always sit as far away as possible. except for old people. when they sit next to you, you can smell the cough drop on their breath. park benches with bird poop on them. and gum under the seats.
un banc sur lequel on s’asseoit on rêve le banc public des amoureux banc balancelle balançoire. jardin public, peindre le banc attention peinture fraîche ! être mis au ban de la soicété
a bench..sitting on wood with ice cream in a park, dogs pulling leashes as they walk by, feed the birds, just sitting reading a book, you and me, together, the trees nearby and the people walking by
Park benches. one of the most “romantic” and useful items invented. and dangerous. how often are you sitting in a benc thinking about how some stranger can come sit beside you. so you take the center of the bench. and hope nobody comes. and every time someone comes you loko a t him.. but if he’s cute
you regret you’ve got no space!
Two lovers sitting, kissing…
They know they won’t see each other again so they try to forget time.
Pigeons fly by, landing at their feet.
They ignore them. Ignore every thing.
On this bench…
My troops were tired, bone tired. We made camp in the shattered remains of a skyscraper, the skeletal husk casting a strange shadow on the ground. I sat on a blackened bench in front, contemplating our next move, wishing to god for the war to be over.
The bench was covered in flowers, from dandelions to geraniums. The fragrance was pleasant, and yet as I came closer, I dared not to sit at that spot for fear of crushing the flowers.
i sit on you. you hold me. sometimes its uncomfortable, but for th most part it’s pretty nice. a warm summer day. relaxing on the bench. reading a book. or magazine. laying out. wishing you were a beach chair.
The children across the street look back at me and my cheap Washburn dreadnought. I might as well have been holding a crucifix to the devil. the life I live is to mortify others from the cozy repose of this bench.
If I sit myself down on that bench I may never get back up. It is so easy to just sit and read, write, ponder….. I must not sit for more than a minute or so. But time passes much tooooo quickly!
The young girl sat on the old wooden bench over looking the city. she swiped furiously at her rolling tears and slid her fresh face of confidence into place. she knew soon she would have to return to the city. return to the madness and confusion. up here nobody knew her face or questioned her presence, simply let her be. be whoever she wanted to be.
I remember sitting on a bench, and my dad telling me this is where he proposed to my stepmom. Hearing the yearning in his voice, I knew it was love and there was no way I would stand in the way of it. It may be hard, but I’ll make do because in all honesty, this bench, this life, doesn’t matter. My dad’s love and happiness, does.
where I am sitting, waiting for you. The leaves are turning and the air is crisp. This bench is comfortable, worn in. I am relaxed here, content in my timely appearance. Ready for your arrival and yet unrushed, enjoying this moment of content wonder at the world and the day around me. This bench is my anchor to this moment.
But anyway, the park isn’t the same as it was twenty or so seconds ago, and the trees sweep softly in the opposite direction. This can’t be good, it must be wind and rain and death and other things we’ve imagined before.
Ah, the bench. It’s one of those mixed things. If you’re on the bench you can just chill out. There’s no pressure to perform, no danger of injury. But the whole time you’re riding the pine you just want to get on the field. Your teammates are out there taking a beating and you’re just sitting there. You are irrelevant, useless. And then you get called, and you’re out there. Maybe you get blown off the line, maybe you’re gasping for breath. But hey, you’re finally off the bench.
A park bench with white clothes strewn over it in winter. No sign of anyone or any tracks leading to or from it, and no fresh snow for days. The clothes are folded and clean, a full set, entirely white. The wind whispers by.
A bench stood lonely on the side of the wind-tossed lake. The sky a sort of half-way gray, camoflauging the iron bench again it in the bare, desolate landscape. The bench sighed to itself.
When i was in 7th grade i used to think that the court yard behind our school needed a bench so the students could sit with each other after class. I proposed this idea to my friend Aimee, and together (in our heads) we made up plans to make a bench from scratch, but we never followed through with it. The damn place still needs a bench 10 years later.
Rustling of the bright autumn leaves, scattering about the ground in the breeze, so fresh from its long journey across the ocean and through the trees of the gorgeous park in which I sat, idly, almost drowzily that long afternoon.
The bench is where you sit. it is made of wood. it is used in classrooms. It helps in sleeping too. You can climb on it, sit on it and sleep on it. Though uncomfortably. A bench is also found at parks. It is where you will find lovers. It is also where you will find old people. Dogs like to pee near the legs of benches. A park bench can be pleasant.
The bench in the corner looked inviting, but he didn’t think it was a good idea to sit down. Instead, he took the bench to the far corner of the basement and stepped on in order to peer over the foundation ledge. Just as his head cleared the edge of the foundation he heard the gurgling gasp of someone behind him. “No way!” he thought as he started to turn around.
As she sat quietly on the park bench, the young one approached her with no fear what so ever. It brought a smile to her face to see the little tyke. The baby squirrle sat on the ground and seemed to smile back at her.
sitting there, under the cover of tall, wise, old trees. you and I, enjoying the scenery. I wonder if there was a tree under which we created this magical moment. But instead, i find you, sitting on the bench, a place next to you, just enough room for me.
I sat on a bench in Central Park for the first time, feeding the birds and thinking about how I finally made it. I’m where I wanna be, and where I am is beautiful. My friends are amazing, and I’m happy.
They sat there, on the bench, their bench, worlds apart and yet only centimeters from each other. They spoke quietly, in whispers, for one hour, once a year, every year on Midsummer’s Day, until their hairs turned grey and their skin wrinkled with smiles and a life lived full of Dust. They spoke about the Republic of Heaven, and prayed that one day, they’d finally be together again, each of their atoms tightly entwined, even in death.
i ll jump over the bench and i will start running running running until i see someone with a red hat and yellow shoes. i see him telling me “you are a pinguin!”
I already wrote on this topic. It seems like life often relives itself. Have I seen this person, walked this road, read this sentence? What makes it matter? What makes it stick with us? Moments are all we have.
I sat here when I got the phone call saying you were hurt. And however much I tried to move I couldnt. The bench and me were one entity, and when I tried to move, my legs felt heavy as if the whole weight of the wood was part of me. The slower I moved the more ok you would be when I got to you, right?
sitting on the bench kissing a boy whose soooo hot…. the bench is green and made out of wood… its in the middle of a park :)
The benches in the family court corridor and the pews in the cathedral just across Columbus Circle are the same. But in the courthouse they’re arranged against the walls. So the scared and angry and resigned and hopeful clients who choose to sit until their case is called, sit in the narrow corridor facing each other, rather than facing the gothic chancel and high altar like they do each Sunday.
a bench is a place to sit and a place you could possibly read. Bench rythmes with wench. I don’t have my own bench but I know some people that do. there is one outstide my apartment. That handle rusted off and it was crazy, someone could’ve fallen. It’s not my problem though cuz It aint my bench, wench. Ha love having ya around.
I think immediately of all the canteen benches in school. Of all the times we spent there, eating, drinking, having fun, chatting. Sometimes I wonder if we ever really cherished the times we had there, the carefree times as compared to how we have to deal with the realities of life now. How many times had I sat there just wasting my time away? What could I have accomplished by now? Sometimes I wonder.
On the bench we sat.
We held hands.
We were so together.
But so separate.
You wouldn’t let me in.
I never thought you would.
And so we sat.
Benches can be fun in your yard. People usually don’t sit in them but it looks nice to think you CAN sit in them. I really don’t have much more to say about benches, other than I wish I had a few more in my yard. I have plenty in my house, two, plus one is going into my barn.
I was sitting on a bench at the park near my house one day, just watching life. I do that a lot. I observe and contemplate what comes and goes around me. Anyway, it was a cold but sunny winter day and I was not yet so sure about my day. Until…
This is art, it comes from within, it’s just whatever, whenever. Just expression, nothing is real in this case, not even me. Do you get it? I wouldn’t, but it is as real as you want to make it. This is me just scrawling some words on paper and this is what I can call art, because I can’t draw or paint.
I sat on the bench and stared blankly at the park in front of me. Would she show up? Was this all just a mistake? Why was I even here right now? I fiddled with the box in my hands. The cool hardness of the bench made it difficult to think straight.
the sun shone brightly, warming up the park. The girl shaded her eyes and scanned the park. “Where is he?” she looked down at her watch.
park bench. lonely. awkward sitting there. when people sit on benches they always sit as far away as possible. except for old people. when they sit next to you, you can smell the cough drop on their breath. park benches with bird poop on them. and gum under the seats.
un banc sur lequel on s’asseoit on rêve le banc public des amoureux banc balancelle balançoire. jardin public, peindre le banc attention peinture fraîche ! être mis au ban de la soicété
a bench..sitting on wood with ice cream in a park, dogs pulling leashes as they walk by, feed the birds, just sitting reading a book, you and me, together, the trees nearby and the people walking by
Park benches. one of the most “romantic” and useful items invented. and dangerous. how often are you sitting in a benc thinking about how some stranger can come sit beside you. so you take the center of the bench. and hope nobody comes. and every time someone comes you loko a t him.. but if he’s cute
you regret you’ve got no space!
Two lovers sitting, kissing…
They know they won’t see each other again so they try to forget time.
Pigeons fly by, landing at their feet.
They ignore them. Ignore every thing.
On this bench…
My troops were tired, bone tired. We made camp in the shattered remains of a skyscraper, the skeletal husk casting a strange shadow on the ground. I sat on a blackened bench in front, contemplating our next move, wishing to god for the war to be over.
The bench was covered in flowers, from dandelions to geraniums. The fragrance was pleasant, and yet as I came closer, I dared not to sit at that spot for fear of crushing the flowers.
i sit on you. you hold me. sometimes its uncomfortable, but for th most part it’s pretty nice. a warm summer day. relaxing on the bench. reading a book. or magazine. laying out. wishing you were a beach chair.
Third time’s the charm.
The children across the street look back at me and my cheap Washburn dreadnought. I might as well have been holding a crucifix to the devil. the life I live is to mortify others from the cozy repose of this bench.
If I sit myself down on that bench I may never get back up. It is so easy to just sit and read, write, ponder….. I must not sit for more than a minute or so. But time passes much tooooo quickly!
The young girl sat on the old wooden bench over looking the city. she swiped furiously at her rolling tears and slid her fresh face of confidence into place. she knew soon she would have to return to the city. return to the madness and confusion. up here nobody knew her face or questioned her presence, simply let her be. be whoever she wanted to be.
I remember sitting on a bench, and my dad telling me this is where he proposed to my stepmom. Hearing the yearning in his voice, I knew it was love and there was no way I would stand in the way of it. It may be hard, but I’ll make do because in all honesty, this bench, this life, doesn’t matter. My dad’s love and happiness, does.
where I am sitting, waiting for you. The leaves are turning and the air is crisp. This bench is comfortable, worn in. I am relaxed here, content in my timely appearance. Ready for your arrival and yet unrushed, enjoying this moment of content wonder at the world and the day around me. This bench is my anchor to this moment.
I already wrote about this…
But anyway, the park isn’t the same as it was twenty or so seconds ago, and the trees sweep softly in the opposite direction. This can’t be good, it must be wind and rain and death and other things we’ve imagined before.
I sat there, thinking about her.
How this thing had more potential to support us, the life we’d want, than I ever had.
And I smiled because it held me up, just as much as it’d brought me down.
Ah, the bench. It’s one of those mixed things. If you’re on the bench you can just chill out. There’s no pressure to perform, no danger of injury. But the whole time you’re riding the pine you just want to get on the field. Your teammates are out there taking a beating and you’re just sitting there. You are irrelevant, useless. And then you get called, and you’re out there. Maybe you get blown off the line, maybe you’re gasping for breath. But hey, you’re finally off the bench.
A park bench with white clothes strewn over it in winter. No sign of anyone or any tracks leading to or from it, and no fresh snow for days. The clothes are folded and clean, a full set, entirely white. The wind whispers by.
A bench stood lonely on the side of the wind-tossed lake. The sky a sort of half-way gray, camoflauging the iron bench again it in the bare, desolate landscape. The bench sighed to itself.
i sit on a bench in the cafe it is a nice wooden bench benchesa hacve other meanings also. irit can be a bench of judges and also the word benchmark
When i was in 7th grade i used to think that the court yard behind our school needed a bench so the students could sit with each other after class. I proposed this idea to my friend Aimee, and together (in our heads) we made up plans to make a bench from scratch, but we never followed through with it. The damn place still needs a bench 10 years later.
Rustling of the bright autumn leaves, scattering about the ground in the breeze, so fresh from its long journey across the ocean and through the trees of the gorgeous park in which I sat, idly, almost drowzily that long afternoon.
The bench is where you sit. it is made of wood. it is used in classrooms. It helps in sleeping too. You can climb on it, sit on it and sleep on it. Though uncomfortably. A bench is also found at parks. It is where you will find lovers. It is also where you will find old people. Dogs like to pee near the legs of benches. A park bench can be pleasant.
The bench in the corner looked inviting, but he didn’t think it was a good idea to sit down. Instead, he took the bench to the far corner of the basement and stepped on in order to peer over the foundation ledge. Just as his head cleared the edge of the foundation he heard the gurgling gasp of someone behind him. “No way!” he thought as he started to turn around.
As she sat quietly on the park bench, the young one approached her with no fear what so ever. It brought a smile to her face to see the little tyke. The baby squirrle sat on the ground and seemed to smile back at her.
sitting there, under the cover of tall, wise, old trees. you and I, enjoying the scenery. I wonder if there was a tree under which we created this magical moment. But instead, i find you, sitting on the bench, a place next to you, just enough room for me.
I sat on a bench in Central Park for the first time, feeding the birds and thinking about how I finally made it. I’m where I wanna be, and where I am is beautiful. My friends are amazing, and I’m happy.
They sat there, on the bench, their bench, worlds apart and yet only centimeters from each other. They spoke quietly, in whispers, for one hour, once a year, every year on Midsummer’s Day, until their hairs turned grey and their skin wrinkled with smiles and a life lived full of Dust. They spoke about the Republic of Heaven, and prayed that one day, they’d finally be together again, each of their atoms tightly entwined, even in death.
i ll jump over the bench and i will start running running running until i see someone with a red hat and yellow shoes. i see him telling me “you are a pinguin!”