How to swing.

I'm in a swing.
It's raining harder than I can ever remember being in before. And I'm laughing and swinging. 

We're all laughing and swinging. 

It's cold. For a split second I think about how my hair must look now. I become angry that I spent so much time straightening it. But just as quickly as the anger comes, it goes. Because it's raining and I'm swinging. What else matters? 

He's pushing me and my friends are laughing all around me. 

This is perfect. 

This right here. This is perfect.

And it fades. 

I'm in a swing. 

I drop my snow cone cup to the ground and push off to begin swinging. 

I close my eyes and gradually swing faster and higher. 

I'm flying. 

I open my eyes and slow down and notice my friends laughing and smiling and spinning on ridiculous toys. 

And this is perfect. 

This right here. This is perfect. 

And it fades. 

I'm in a swing. 

Sadness is everywhere. 

It's pulsing from the left and right of me. But there's an odd feeling to it, too. 

Sadness is never purely sadness. 

There's a deep respect too. There's a deep understanding. There's a deep love. 

I'm in a swing and we are pouring our hearts out to each other. And just for a second, as I look up to the stars and offer advice and love, I feel like this is perfect. 

This right here. This is perfect. 

And it fades.

I'm in a swing. 

And everything is different. 

And this, this right here... This isn't perfect. 

Because there's no friends around with smiling faces. 

There's no laughter. 

There's no deep respect or understanding or love. 

There's just a girl on a swing. 

A girl on a swing who is stuck wondering where everyone else went.