We used to sit on those rusty swings at the park, kicking our legs out from under us. The old, crusty-smooth sand would trickle down our toes and we'd giggle, watching the summer float around us. Sometimes, when it was especially hot, we'd get up off the swings and we'd stand in the middle of the sand box. I'd look at you, you'd look at me. I always tore my gaze away first, since it wasn't fair that you were so pretty and I was so not. I was always jealous. I'd rip my eyes from your pretty green ones and turn to the pale blue sky. Then, we'd dance.
It always rained back then, big, fat, heavy droplets pounding the concrete like a drum. The sky would sag and sometimes, just sometimes, I thought if I stood up just a little taller, or swung up a little higher, I could grab it. Maybe, just maybe, I could hold onto a star. I always thought, maybe, if I held onto your hand while we danced in the rain, I could touch the stars. Now I know, I already was holding one.
You grew up, I did not. I still dance for rain sometimes, but it's not the same. Now it's just a blase motion, just...just motion. I try to capture those big, heavy drops we used to call to us..it doesn't work anymore. You moved on.
