Swung

I have always enjoyed riding the swing.

Back in elementary, I’d frequently drop by the bare lot at the back of the Church where an aged swing stood erect. When a small playground became open to the students in high school, I found myself wheeling away from the classroom just at the end of our last period to shove my small frame into the playground’s entryway.

My feet tilted on the ground, my torso a bit stretched, my hands gripped tightly onto the chains. I’d release and swung free.

I guess the quench for moving somewhere else without really going anywhere has been with me ever since.

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