It's not that it's creepy. It's not. The grass is an incredible shade of green and always neatly cut. There's an elm tree not far off that I know is a five-star hotel for all the nearby woodland creatures. The robins are stuffing the air with their melodies this very minute.
It's a bit secluded, that's true--the main road is about a mile off, and the surrounding trees block out any noise from the traffic back in town. But the stillness doesn't make it threatening. If anything, it's calming. I often bring an old quilt with me and stretch out next to you for hours, watching the horizon tug at the sun until it comes its way.
So no, it's not the place itself that I hate. It's not seeing you that I hate.
It's afterwards, when the still and calm fade. It's when life resumes.
It's when I have to leave you here.
I've had a story in my head all day.
Hopefully more to come soon. Until then, I leave you with a playlist of songs that I've been playing constantly for the past month.