It’s those times in desperate need I’m glad I have somebody there to help look out for me. That’s not to say I’m constantly in a state of nervous tension or depression, but that’s not to say it doesn’t happen occasionally either.

The only problem is finding that person when they aren’t wrapped up in their own problems and issues of validity, hormones or the daily dosage of denial – so much in fact, they cannot mutter three simple words, I love you. That’s when the real trouble for me begins.

I walked the Wisteria Path.

Jasmine flower pedals lead the path into an empty, but eerily inviting place. Ancient trees stare down upon me like giant office buildings in the jungle of an urban city, covered in moss and teeming with wildlife disregarded by those passer-bys. Each step is as if I am walking virgin earth and entering a land inhabited by an air of bareness. Something about this first impression I disagree with, and feel if even slightly, a trail of deceit is told by the trees. There is something more about this place, something esoteric; hidden from the sight of the common person who would disrespect this archaic beauty – untapped knowledge and flora. This place holds more than simply a secret, but bears the hallmark of some of the greatest events to ever take place in my life. My guitar would become more a burden on my journey to bring it into the place as if to hesitate on its entrance, though hum melodiously and feel smooth across my fingers as I found my quiet and reserved space. I smile, and gaze at the old, frail wood, splintered and littered with many engravings of nameless people.

Slowly, I stroke the rough thin planks composing the bench, and whisper to it with fresh tears rolling down my cheeks. An inanimate object had heard my exploits and adventures, woes and worries, though never once ran away. Never did it complain or hide, even in those times when I cruelly questioned living life itself. Slouching in meditation, I would visualise children and adults running across sparse fields of grass, overpopulated by patches of barren dirt and earth where no plant grew. I thought fiercely of this maltreatment, before being taken on a journey through to the future. A young man, no older than thirty, watched as his children played cheerfully in this otherwise empty and veiled place. His wife was not far behind, seated comfortably watching her husband with smugness and contentment. She gazed over at her children, who passed her warm smiles and giggles. I thought for a moment, at the possibility of this father being a manifestation of myself, of things to come, of what my subconscious has been instructed to bring into my life. This was indeed true, countless times I had dreamt of a harmonious family devoid of all the hardships my love and I witnessed. But was this more dream than reality?

The visualisation is suddenly broken and I am startled awake. An itch forms in my scalp, and as I brush it away, a small bunch of Jasmine blossoms falls into my lap. I study the intricacy of nature, before placing it on the bench beside me, wishing for just that one moment, it had been accompanied by those who meant the most to me in this world. I gaze back out through the park, upon the luscious, fertile grass and swings waving in the near distance. I smile once more as I look upon my guitar lying within my lap, for it could have spoken, it would have told me how it shared my dream and would help me persist. I am in such a state of joy and optimism the tears reform, but not of despair. If those tears were glasses, they surely showed me the world as it truly was. I took my departure down Wisteria Path and take one look back at the place that had comforted me so.

The bench I sat upon no longer bear the engravings of nameless people, but names of those cherished by me. Even few in number, their compassion and truthfulness could be found in no other place. I place the Jasmine within my hand back onto the bench and smile again, for better times to come, taking one small pedal with me and keeping it in my front pocket, close to my heart. This place shall always be a part of me, no matter how far I should travel. For this place is not just a park, it is Fitzgerald Park.