• I first met you there, so many years now I’ve lost count. The simple rope and plank hanging from an old elm tree covered in dark English ivy. Throughout the day, day by day, I went to that swing just hear the singing of nature, breathing lightly against every breeze, and pretending to fly, fly far far away from here. ‘Til you came along.
    I was swinging lowly back and forth, to and fro, when I heard the dragging of feet on the road. I was tempted to stop, but your strange face plagued my mind. I felt blocked, and I stopped pumping the swing as my hair flittered in mild response. You stopped to look at me with a smile. We were both too young to like each other, but too old to hate. But we did what was beyond our age. You asked if you could push me, and I agreed.
    You weren’t attractive, but you weren’t appalling either. Just a small town boy with small town looks, but your eyes were what broke my soul’s door. Just the sheer purity you had in them till the very, very end.
    As we grew older, you never changed. Just that small town boy pushing a farm girl like me, on the swing everyday, day by day. And I waited. As I grew and strange things were changing my body from they’re oh so familiar self, I soon waited for you more and more. I wore make-up and brushed my hair, and sat rigidly everyday till you came. The moment I heard the dragging feet, I grinned for you. And you grinned back. Before I knew it, I saw my future in your eyes and I was happy beyond my limited knowledge.
    But then, one day you didn’t come. I sat alone on the swing, ivy playing at my finger tips as I waited. And I waited. You never came. Before I knew it, the sun bleached the sky in a blooded red and I started crying as the dancing lights of lightening bugs adorned the cool twilight air.
    Everyone said you were gone, never to come back to me. It’s been years since your death, but even in death I feel your cool touch when I stand on my patio. I smell your sweet breath when I stare out the window; longing for the swing that I can never return to now. In the swing bore a pain that was so far beyond my arrogant knowledge in which I couldn’t possibly bare without you to grace my side, but alas you were the source of loss. Sometimes I would wake up just to cry because you gone; alone and gone. I still saw you in my reflection, grinning at me. Whether to mock or to comfort me, I wouldn’t care either way. In the wind of those warm summer days your voice seems to call out to me, and how I wished to follow. They called me crazy, the ones that said you are gone, but how can I believe you’re truly gone when they can’t see you; they can’t hear you sing to me every plaguing, mocking night. I suffered those years alone, wondering whether you truly died or not.
    I now stand at the swing, five years since the blooded sunset, the empty bottle slipping from my vague fingertips. The ivy grew enough to trail under the swing and curled with a few strands from the ground, but it was still loose enough for me to swing on. I sat, feeling the aged wood of our initials surrounded in a heart. I smiled as I felt your hands caress mine, a kiss blushing my cheek. With a pull then a push, the swing starting rocking back and forth as you pushed me. I grinned and turned to see you. You were a teenager again, as was I, and we both laughed by swing; where we belong.