The burns on my fingers were all that was left of the spark

I swang on a swing today. There are truly a precious few things in life that will never be affected by our undeniable need to and for change. One of those things is swinging. The rustle in your clothes and past your ears, and the soft tangling of your hair doesn't stop with age. The way the bars feel in your hands, the metal-on-metal squirt that pops out above you when you go up - down - backwards - down doesn't fade with time. And the weightless glory at the peak of every upward moving motion when, for a split second it feels as though you're weightless, and that fake floating that occurs when you lean back, close your eyes, and push/pull in a way that only comes from your body's memory, that you couldn't reproduce without the swing's motion and shape, doesn't leave you when it's been years since you've been on a swing. And it always, always makes you happy. No matter how old you are, no matter the weight you carry and the scars your heart now bears. No matter who you think you are, who you've lost inside, and who you realize you want to be. A swing will bring you back to what matters, and that's right now, with the breeze, and the noise, and the flight.