Afterglow

On the walk home

I had a small can of wine at the movie theatre, so when I walked home everything had a soft glow. I’d taken the shortcut through the park countless times, through winter and spring, with others and alone. The other night it all looked beautiful and still, the basketball court and the swings of the playground covered in snow. I knew the park looked nice, there under the streetlights, because there wouldn’t be many more nights like it. No more walking back from the bus stop, watching shadows shift in the snowbanks, thinking of my friends instead of the film. No more climbing the stairs to the apartment, wondering who left the light on, realizing it must have been me.