Lately I’ve been thinking of elementary school.

When I flip back through my memories

and shake down my brain for stories to tell,

everything seems perfect.

Green grass.

Blue skies.

A faint haze distorting the figures


And blurring their edges.

I miss the feeling of a swing set.

Legs pumping—forward back forward back



Higher into the air,

Closer to the clouds,

Further from any worry.


I miss running around playgrounds.

Legs pumping—faster and faster and faster and


Tagging my friends,

Finding the best hiding spots,

Winning a race.


Things feel so different now.

My thoughts are heavier,



My legs creak

And protest.


I can’t stop thinking about being little again.

Green grass.

Blue skies.

Legs pumping.


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