Reflection Comments

The sun shines down as I swing my feet backandforth backandforth off the side of a bridge made just for them, too small for cars [and in the wrong area too] as Mother once called it, when I was still too innocent to grasp what she’d meant,

“a bridge too low to throw oneself off.” Sitting here I remember her, and the days we used to come swing on the set in the playground that used to be. Now, having only the bridge, backandforth I make-believe.
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