As I sit here, I wonder what’s so special about the playground. To play on it hours on end, I’d go out of my mind. But they scream for turns on the swings as loud as their voices allow them. Almost as if they saw an ice cream truck driving through the neighborhood. They run around, climbing up the slides, because the sheer thought of being able to climb high into the sky, as if they’re climbing the clouds, hypnotize them.
The playground plays with the children, just as much as it plays with the mind.
And so I sit here. My throat tickles from yesterday’s laughter but burns today from the germs of the playground. The slides open wounds slash onto my skin and sickness rumbles in my veins. I sit here wishing that someone had healed that slide.
So that maybe I wouldn’t have to be sitting here, wondering, with my throat tickling, and wishing for a better day or a better feeling in my body as I sit here, on this playground.