This is a poem I wrote that has been in my drafts for a while.
where sunlight slipped through silver branches,
and shadows danced on soft grass.
An old wooden swing swayed gently,
carrying whispers of afternoons
too simple to notice they were fleeting.
I remember how the air smelledā
like earth, rain, and something sweet.
My hands wrapped tight around the rope,
feet brushing against time,
pushing forward, always forward,
but never wanting to leave.
as if the world outside couldnāt reach,
as if the leaves knew secrets
theyād only share in rustling laughter.
Now, I stand in places that echo,
searching for that same kind of stillness,
that same soft pull of belonging.
of the child who knew how to fly.
to a place that never left me.