The Samaritan on Western Street

I am on my morning jog as usual. A five-mile run with a single stop to rest, under a large oak tree on Western Street. As my pace slowed near, I see a man knee-down, consumed by tears.
Under the large oak tree, which is known around here as the tree Cupid had once appeared.

I asked, “Are you okay?” Do you need me to call anyone?” Glancing up to speak with a crackling moan, he says: “Who can be called upon, to change such an outcome.”

As I stumbled over my words as a response, he says, “My wife has left me and is never to return.
Trying to hold on to love is like trying to hold the elusive wind. It comes and goes as it pleases, we must learn to cherish every touch, every moment that it gives us.”

I was left without a consoling thought. A helpless Samaritan with his hand left out.
However, the words he’d just spoken, and with the zeal in which he had spoken them; somehow, I knew them all to be true, even felt the pain he was going through too.

Suddenly, he looks up and mumbles, but didn’t repeat, but it sounded like he said, “He remembered me.”

With a cleared voice and now building pride, he said “Five years of marriage, at least warranted a face-to-face goodbye.” Yet, this was the inevitable, how else could this have ended. A simple note with words scribbled was all she felt to leave me. He unfolds the note, reads it immediately.

“How could I’ve hoped a love such as yours to be mine alone. A love so grand, the whole world must depend on. Nevertheless, no more can I suffer to share. Selfish, I know, but no more can this I bear.
And I shall be known as the woman who once loved love himself.”

He rips the note up, gives it to the air.

With an elevated tone says, “I’ve seen many fall in love. Have seen happiness beyond the mere word. Yet, for me, a workaholic of the people, even to be called a counselor at times, find a personal love who understands something so sensitive, and that which is in such of a demand.”

Stunned by the elegance of the words he’d just spoken. Until I see back by the tree there lies a bow. It was broken in two, next to arrows with golden red tips, somewhat scattered. I once too was headed for divorce, so I could imagine what had happened.

A couple of arrows read Love; at least three had the word, Truth. Then I saw one that said Marriage which was nearly broken in two.

He quickly gathers all arrows and broken bow, puts them in his quiver. Stands stern and says, “Thank you Paul for being a good Samaritan, it was rather nice of you. Please, give my best to Sarah, I was sure you guys would work things through.”

Then, right before my eyes he disappears. And all I could do was stand there idled and stare.
Knowing under this large oak tree on Western Street, had once stood cupid himself.