The secret garden


A faint breeze tickled across her collarbone,
leaving in its path remnants of memories,
memories she kept locked deep inside her heart,
but at the same time, she wanted to forget.
‘The street isn’t safe at night’, her mother once said,
yet she found herself sitting on the wooden bench,
surrounded by lilies and the occasional rose,
under the shelter of a tree,
staring into what seemed to be a fountain of delicious elixir,
the moonlight beamed on the pool of water so vividly,
it was nothing short of angelic.
The animals seemed less shy at night,
they wouldn’t be preyed upon or restricted,
they slowly gathered in a circle,
as though they were in a knitting club,
needling their story onto the grass.
The owls were in their waking hours,
opening their eyes and taking in what the night has to offer them,
but the same time they opened theirs,
she closed hers.
And then when her eyes fluttered,
she realised she was not on a creaking wooden bench,
but on marble floors,
she wasn’t surrounded by the scent of flowers,
yet she could feel the pricking of thorns all over her.
there was liquid in front of her,
but she did not know whether it was water or her own tears.
But then she found a smile forming on her face,
for she knew she would be alright,
she placed her hand on her heart,
deciding to hold on those memories,
cherish them for they were,
and reminded her self that when things go awry,
she always had her secret garden to return to.

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