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

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

Faster.

Tagging my friends,

Finding the best hiding spots,

Winning a race.

Things feel so different now.

My thoughts are heavier,

Weighted,

Solidified.

My legs creak

And protest.

I can’t stop thinking about being little again.

Green grass.

Blue skies.

Legs pumping.