A day that never came

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Angel sat on the park bench, holding a photograph with rugged edges. The scorching rays of the sun rested against her bare caramel skin, but it wasn't enough to drive her away from her spot.

"Don't tell me you're still waiting," an unfamiliar voice from behind said.

She raised her head to see an older man, slightly unkept, rough bushy hair, wrinkled skin, and a rumpled plain shirt worn over black jeans.

He leaned against a tree and had a smirk that seemed not to fade.

"I... well... maybe," she replied, forcing a smile. "It's awkward, to be honest."

"I guess it must be a guy?" he asked as he gently sat beside her.

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She was hesitant for a few seconds. "Yeah, he said we would meet here today. And I've been here, but... I don't even know." Her voice shook a little.

The stranger nodded. "Life is like that. Sometimes we wait for moments that will never come, and when it doesn't, you start wondering if it was ever real or just an illusion created to make us feel good."

Angel swallowed her spit like someone who was troubled. "I just can't seem to stop thinking about it. I keep telling myself tomorrow, but then tomorrow comes and he doesn't show up. It's just the same empty, worthless feeling."

"What if tomorrow isn't the day you're anticipating? What if it's the day you stop anticipating something that never was?"

Her face dropped, her mood even worse. "But giving up so soon is already losing."

"True, but sometimes if we don't lose, we'll never learn real lessons in life."

Angel took a deep breath and returned her eyes to the photograph. On it, a young man had his arms across her shoulders. His smile felt real and genuine—one could write a love story off it. His name was Josh.

She thought his promises for today would be different from other days where he failed to keep up with his plans. An endless, reoccurring cycle.

"Maybe he probably just forgot," she murmured to herself. Her heart skipped when she said it; it didn't even believe her.

"Maybe something is holding him back. You can never tell. But one thing is for sure—promises are made not to be broken. Have that in mind."

Angel looked at the stranger. "I wish I could just see his face. Ever since he left to settle in another state, it's been nothing but promises. I really miss him." Tears brimmed her eyes, waiting to slide down her cheeks.

The man reached for his pocket and pulled out a small note filled with sketches of him and a boy, and elements of nature—the sun, trees, beaches, and even the sky. He pointed at an image.

"I used to wait for him here, my brother. Every day I sat in this spot, praying he would come back to me. But eventually, I discovered that waiting wouldn't fill the void his absence created, so I lived life every day, not holding onto what could have been but what will be."

He paused, his eyes teary, and his face appeared even more wrinkled.

"Sorry for your loss," she empathized with him.

She felt his words cut through her like a spear. He was the definition of "never judge a book by its cover." An old wise man, she thought to herself.

Angel took a glance at the photograph once more. She shut her eyes and inhaled deeply as she tried cutting off his smile from her mind.

"I'll try."

"Try what?" the old man asked. His face lightened up a bit.

"Try moving on and not clinging to what could have been, but looking forward to what will be."

The stranger smiled. "That's the spirit."

She got up from the bench, clutched the photograph to her body, then turned to him. "Thank you, Mister. What's your name, if you don't mind?"

"People call me Mr. Bones, but call me Nelson,"

"The sun will shine even brighter as you live your best life," he said to her hearing.

She turned and looked at Nelson once more. She saw a father with a good heart in him. She then smiled and nodded.

Angel walked away from the park a new being. The air seemed revived. The sun had a different feel, almost like it brought life to her soul. She felt light for the first time in months.

That same evening, she lurked around an art gallery not too far from the park. She was enticed by the music and cheers. As she wandered through the displays, her eyes caught a glimpse of a painting where a girl sat in an empty park, her eyes glued to a photograph—except those eyes were darkened, filled with horror. They told a story, one she could decide.

"It must be beautiful, isn't it?" a voice said from behind.

She turned, and there he was—a young man, dark-skinned, tall, bald with thick yet neatly trimmed beards. His smile was so gentlemanly, and his perfume? Strong yet subtle.

"Does the girl remind you of someone?" he said, pointing toward the painting.

Angel laughed. "She reminds me of a previous version of myself."

"Right?" he laughed. "One minute we're stuck in a loop where darkness prevails, and the next, we're out, basking in the sun, wearing a smile in a place completely new."

He paused and their eyes met, their gaze lingering way too long.

He extended his hand. "Hi, I'm John."

Angel shook his hand. A spark was ignited in her, a feeling she hadn't felt in over a year.

They strolled through the gallery, talking about everything their minds could think of.

She remembered Nelson's words: "I lived life every day..."

Sometimes in the process of living, our dreams will find us, she thought to herself while they continued their conversation amidst background laughters and inaudible chatters.

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