It's funny how I always return,
to the place I couldn't wait to leave.
I sit and observe from my swing,
the marks we left on this place;
The place where it all began.
The place with truth and laughter;
the sound of jump ropes on concrete,
and the comfort and strength of the big tree;
where you first poured out your heart.
The place with great spots for hide n' go seek;
swings that lifted you higher and higher,
and yet the place I couldn't wait to leave.
As I looked out with blurry eyes,
I see a place of dead grass,
where our tree once stood.
The symbol of everything we shared,
gone;
almost like it was never there.
I jumped out of my swing and walked away;
hating every step that led me away,
from the place that before,
I couldn't wait to leave.