Flying higher and higher

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            A slightly story like piece of writing, of why I love swings. I should have this in a book somewhere. 

I love the swings at the playground. It’s the only thing I go on anymore when I’m at the park. I love the feeling of temporary freedom as I’m slightly off the ground. And my feet keeps on swinging back and forth trying to fly away from the woodchips. My back arching a bit as I’m trying to get a bit higher and higher. It feels nice when the wind rushes over me, blowing my hair back. Trying to force me to stop and stay put on the ground. Only, I don’t stop. I start to go higher and higher. Trying to fly away from the world called earth. There’s a risk of falling, but I don’t care. My hands hold on tight to the chains/rope that are on either side of me. They are the only things keeping me here on earth.

I love all of that, but then I start to remember reality. And instead of seeing the blue sky, I start to see the playground. My feet swing slower and slower, till it stops all together. My hands aren’t holding tight anymore instead they’re barely holding down. Probably a bit smug at completing their job of keeping me tied down to earth.

I love that too, well kind of. I love the feeling of temporarily flying, while still sitting. That’s probably what I love most of all, the flying while still sitting. It’s relaxing in a way, and cheerful. For a moment, it seems as if I’m not thinking just… dreaming with my eyes open. Then the thoughts invade and the only way I can stop them is to find their solutions to them. Which is easier said than done, while on the swings. It seems like almost anything is possible while swinging, in my opinion.