The children romp around the backyard merrily. Those hopscotch-jumping, hula-twirling kids radiate a kind of bliss; the pure joy of everyday life, just through their echoing laughters from all corners, as I see and hear and feel the atmosphere.
I found an empty swing a few feet ahead, a boy ran away from the swings toward his friend who’s calling out to him from her basement: under the slide.
He got up, didn’t take too long to get himself together from all that swingin’, or probably just mesmerized by the girl’s sweet sound calling out his name – “Sean, dear! C’mere.” The heartthrob immediately steal his attention away from the moving clouds (he saw many sheeps!) he was staring at on that big, blue sky.
He ran toward her. Somewhere along the way, he tripped. He looked down on his bleeding knee – the red was running fast. Those little prickles of rocks hit him real hard. He blew away the pain hurriedly, holding back his tears. And the girl under the slide is no longer interested in the boy, for he is weak.
I stood for a while on the sandy ground beneath this swing, waiting for a moment until I’m ready to sit on it. All four corners of this old backyard surrounding me, now a void of people, makes no sense of that blissful haven each used to stand itself for.
I sat on the seat and start swinging really lightly, for fear that I might fall again.
Muchaluva,
Stace
Saluna and her stories: View all / Diary entries
