There was a boy who visited the playground.
Everyday, he would wait by that familiar rusty swing set, waiting eagerly for the ice cream truck to make its rounds so that he could get to enjoy his ice cream everyday. Even on his worse days, the icy treat would bring a smile to his face.
He was contented that some days, the ice cream truck did not come, but he knew he was always going to see that familiar truck coming round again soon. He was, in a way, safe.
One day he waited. The next day came, but never did the truck. And then the next. The boy made it a point to wait everyday just so that he could eventually have his ice cream again. Snow and rain did not deter him.
He decided to visit the ice cream man's house, just two streets away. He had finally learnt that the ice cream man was bedridden, and he would not sell his home made ice cream any more. He offered the boy the last bit of his home made ice cream which he saved, just in case the boy visited.
The boy ate the treat, ever so slowly, with tears rolling down his cheeks, knowing that he will never ever get to have it again. The ice cream melted before he could finish it. He drank up whatever was left of it and thanked the ice cream man for the days that he had made the boy happy.
The boy left, but with a broken heart. For he knew, there could be other ice cream trucks coming round, but none would bring him the joy that he had with the former one. The others would only remind him of how good the last one was.
"There will never be another one like that again", he said, shaking his head in dismay and warm tears rolling down his face. He will walk on, but he will always look back.
There will never be another one like that again.
There will never be another one like you again.