» one .

It is a mild autumn day; I can hear the laughter of children and the crumpling sound of leaves being trampled underfoot. A leaf flutters down from a golden tree nearby, covering the toe of my boot with its delicate, paper-like surface. Thin gossamer veins crisscross and mesh together to form a dainty network across the leaf's surface; mottled variants of brown and a dusty red compose its coloring. I stare at it for a moment, but only a moment, for it isn't long before a small gust of wind materializes and lifts it away. An untraceable feeling rises in me as I watch the leaf travel along the grass, being blown haphazardly around according to the whims of the wind. A fragile shred of existence, much like mine. One final flutter, and the leaf is gone.

Every palpitation, every throb of my heart pulsates through my body, highlighting the loss that fills me up inside. I no longer chart my days, for the passing of time is habitual; instead, my days are spent fighting the tide that threatens to engulf me. Misery gnaws at my insides; sorrow and heartache have become commonplace. The void cannot be filled.

I've tried.

I turn my face back downwards, looking at the swing underneath me. It used to be a polished, cherry red color, but both time and wear have taken their toll; now it's a faded coral hue, speckled throughout with small flecks of cream. As my fingers grip the cold metal chains of the swing tighter, I turn my face to the sun and embrace in the warmth of its rays, for although today is a somber day, at least I am still alive.

And that means everything.

» two .

I tug slightly at the collar of my t-shirt, trying to fan away the heat that seems to be emanating from my body. A bead of sweat trickles down my temple; my hair is plastered against the side of my head in a wet and fairly sticky embrace. Despite the rather disagreeable heat wave, I am glad to be here today. I've come here every Tuesday for the past year or so; Daddy has made it a tradition to take me to the park once every week. Today, I am sitting upon the red swing - my favorite one. My legs dangle a few inches above the woodchips beneath me, but that's okay. Daddy always pushes me, since my legs are still too short to reach the ground. Besides, I take comfort in the sense of security and peace I receive when he pushes me.

"Teagan, are you ready?"

I close my eyes, for the question is rhetorical and merely a formality. We both know what my answer is, and firm hands clasp my back for a brief moment before I feel myself swinging back and forth, higher and higher with each small push. After the first few initial nudges, my father stands back to watch. The rest is up to me.

Pumping my legs, I propel myself through the air, gaining momentum and height with each pump. It isn't long before I reach a reasonably high altitude, not high enough to be frightening nor low enough to be lulled into a sense of security. I soar forwards, and at the apex of the arc, something inside me flutters. In that moment, I feel like I can fly, free as a bird to roam the heavens above. A laugh bubbles from my throat, bursting out of me in the brief millisecond before I come crashing back down. I stop pumping my legs, letting gravity slow me down with each plunge towards the earth.

more stuff comes here yay yay

» three .

um

» four .

But love endures.

This is my burden. I have to remember; I cannot forget. To forget means to lose, and I refuse to abandon the few faint memories I have left of my father. His smile, his laugh, his perpetually disheveled hair. Instead, I cherish them, holding each moment and memory close to my heart. The future holds a small pearl of promise, for although some days are filled with sorrow, there is always the faint hope that things will get better.

Once every year, I visit this exact swing. If I try really hard, I can remember the lines of laughter carved into your face, the rumble of your deep laugh, the firm hands that protected me.

I can swing all by myself now. But I miss when you pushed me.

Thanks to Olive for letting me adopt! ♥️