The Park Lady

[Fiskje88]

The Park Lady

There’s this woman I know, and she is fond of the park I always pay a visit to. She often sits at the bench near the waterfall – I’m sure you know which one I mean. The ducks have to admire her. She regularly brings them bread and feeds them the little crunches she’s made of it.
I haven’t given her a name yet. I’m afraid that when I do, I’ll turn her into someone else. She wouldn’t be the Park Lady anymore to me, she’d lose her identity if you understand what I try to say. Could you ever imagine being without an identity, being a nobody so to say?
I once dreamt of loving Nobody. It was rather difficult; you see, being Anybody, I was quite the opposite of Nobody. When I woke up I felt strange, I had the idea the world had gone mad. Nobody seemed to be everywhere suddenly. Everybody had turned into a specific nobody. I mean, how weird is it to have to accept that there are billions of others living on this planet, billions of people you have never met and probably never will? How can you be so sure they are real?
I reckon the Park Lady is old. She must have sat in the park for a lot of years. It’s hard for me to imagine that she might have been someone else once – a loving wife and mother of three, for instance. She is no one else but the Park Lady. She’s grown into her role of taking care of all the ducks in the park throughout the winter. That’s right, yes, she sits there all winter, watching the ducks. They must mean a lot to her.
I admire her as well. She is a woman that’s capable of loving. She isn’t afraid of showing the entire world she cares about her ducks. I think she once loved a man, who may have died. I wonder if he made her truly happy, if they might have dreamt of doing things together. I often envision myself being a lover. Being loved, even. I wouldn’t know how I would react. I don’t think I could be capable of loving someone for the rest of my life – wouldn’t it be boring?
I have had lots of conversations with the Park Lady. They were all imaginary, of course. She’s often come to me in my dreams. She’s a wise woman. She knows the answers to most of my questions, and helped me to move on in my life. Dreams are important to me; they provide me with hope and faith. They say that dreams represent your private thoughts. What would that mean in my case?
I know I’ll see her again tomorrow. She’s my personal God. I’m thinking of sitting next to her one day, and having a chat with her. Somehow I’m afraid of doing that; it would change her. I wonder if she knows me. I mean, those people that I think are interesting don’t have to think likewise. It’s one of the rules of the game.
I also know that one day she won’t be there anymore. She will have died. Yet I hope a miracle will happen. She might find her true love one day, and spend her last days with him. She’ll be happy and talkative. She might tell him about me, providing that she knew me, and how I always went to the park to take my dog out for a walk. She might tell him about the Park Wanderer.

[me... just me]

The Park Lady

There’s this woman I know, and she is fond of the park I always pay a visit to. She often sits at the bench near the waterfall – I’m sure you know which one I mean. The ducks have to admire her. She regularly brings them bread and feeds them the little crunches she’s made of it.
I haven’t given her a name yet. I’m afraid that when I do, I’ll turn her into someone else. She wouldn’t be the Park Lady anymore to me, she’d lose her identity if you understand what I am trying to say . Could you ever imagine being without an identity, being a nobody so to speak (geloof ik )?
I once dreamt of loving Nobody. It was rather difficult; you see, being Anybody, I was quite the opposite of Nobody. When I woke up I felt strange, I had the idea the world had gone mad. Nobody seemed to be everywhere suddenly. Everybody had turned into a specific nobody. I mean, how weird is it to have to accept that there are billions of others living on this planet, billions of people you have never met and probably never will? How can you be so sure they are real?
I reckon the Park Lady is old. She must have sat in the park for a lot of years. It’s hard for me to imagine that she might have been someone else once – a loving wife and mother of three, for instance. She is no one else but the Park Lady. She’s grown into her role of taking care of all the ducks in the park throughout the winter. That’s right, yes, she sits there all winter, watching the ducks. They must mean a lot to her.
I admire her as well. She is a woman that’s capable of loving. She isn’t afraid of showing the entire world she cares about her ducks. I think she once loved a man, who may have died. I wonder if he made her truly happy, if they might have dreamt of doing things together. I often envision myself being a lover. Being loved, even. I wouldn’t know how I would react. I don’t think I could be capable of loving someone for the rest of my life – wouldn’t it be boring?
I have had lots of conversations with the Park Lady. They were all imaginary, of course. She’s often come to me in my dreams. She’s a wise woman. She knows the answers to most of my questions, and helped me to move on in my life. Dreams are important to me; they provide me with hope and faith. Some say that dreams represent your private thoughts. What would that mean in my case?
I know I’ll see her again tomorrow. She’s my personal God. I’m thinking of sitting next to her one day, and having a chat with her. Somehow I’m afraid of doing that; it would change her. I wonder if she knows me. I mean, those people that I think are interesting don’t have to think likewise. It’s one of the rules of the game.
I also know that one day she won’t be there anymore. She will have died. Yet I hope a miracle will happen. She might find her true love one day, and spend her last days with him. She’ll be happy and talkative. She might tell him about me, providing that she knew me, and how I always went to the park to take my dog out for a walk. She might tell him about the Park Wanderer.

[me... just me]

Ik vind het begin en het einde vooral heel sterk... en hoe deze persoon nadenkt over hoe ze zou kunnen zijn... JAmmer vind ik wel dat het in het engels is, op de één of andere manier kun je dit denk ik beter verwoorden in het Nederlands...
Al met al vind ik het toch wel goed geslaagd