day t w e n t y
12:00 a.m.
i went back to the park.
walking on the familiar gravel road, the sight of the park greeted me. the old, faded monkey bars, the rusted see-saw, the swings--
he was there.
the boy with the coloured hair was there, sitting on my swing.
i walked towards him.
“i finally get to see your face now eh, Quil?” he smiled wistfully.
“Michael. it was you the whole time.” i breathed out.
“yeah.”
“why are you on my swing?” i said, feeling a bit mad at him.
“reminiscing.”
my feet were locked on the ground.
“i'm sorry.” i mumbled. ”i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry.”
tears were flowing rapidly.
he opened his arms. i ran over and sat on his lap. his arms locked around my waist.
i felt very tiny in his embrace.
not that i minded, though.
“you've changed.” i said.
“so did you.”
“it was because of you.”
“me too.”
he burrowed his head into my shoulder.
“the crying?” his voice came out muffled.
“that too.”
he hugged me even tighter than before, and i sunk into his arms. my tears were making my oversized sweatshirt wet.
he kissed me on my shoulder.
“do you believe in love now?”
“i think i do.”
---
YEAH THIS IS OFFICALLY OVER.
btw i wrote this all in a day XD
YOU ARE READING
swing ➳ clifford
Short Story“swings are used by one only, but it needs the occasional person behind it to give a push.” © annette yes, lowercase intended and all that jazz. {please note that this is entirely fetus me}
