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Our Old SwingAn old swing by the river, made of hemp rope and a plank of wood. when we think of our childhood, we look back to that time. She would say that Winter was the best time to go down there, we both loved the rain. It brought out a different smell so individual that it could never be mistaken. When the rainy smell was in the air we knew it meant we had to go down to that old swing, it was our place, and for us it was a kingdom. Isn't it funny how everything seems more real when your clothes are damp, and the wind clings to you, a different part of the brain is active, and it unlocks inhibition, something I wish at times I had never forgotten... WOur Old Swing
by ~antsdawg
Can. ICan, ICan. I
I can’t describe the thought or emotion that I felt. I have tried to develop a means in which to communicate all of this, how can I tell you the unmentionable? I was alone, cold and void of sense, the idea of doing it was a weight so hard to burden, but I must tell you, it was not something I did unwillingly. And so I waited for them to approach, just like you told me too, and I waited. I never noticed until I was still how much noise the city makes, the water dripping from a pipe overhead, the muffled sounds of love in the nearby ‘palace’, but to me, the most powerful and dis
by ~antsdawg
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