I swing my legs below me, and the seat glides back and forth, higher, higher, higher. I take the time to collect my thoughts. Close my eyes, deep breath, exhale. The things I have seen, the people I have touched, the memories that I have tasted, all of these things that make me who I am. But who am I really? When I think of myself, I see a little girl. She is alone in a field of fiery reds and burning oranges. Leaves crinkle beneath her bare feet, and she smiles through her gaped teeth. Her blond hair drapes to her waist. Bangs pinned behind her virgin ears. Her navy blue dress dangles from her thin shoulders, the hem tickling her shins and she is still. Eyes downcast, but still she smiles. Faint freckles dance across her face. She bends, picks up a silver locket on a tangled chain. The smile recedes into her sunken face, and she begins to age. To change. The wind picks up; the air is no longer silent. The colors fade, and she grows and grows. She’s a young woman now. Denim jeans rest upon solid hips, cotton shirt that stretch over her matured body, fitting her frame. Black sneakers peek from below the dark, dead leaves. Her shoulder length hair has darkened now, as has the rest of her. The sparkle in her eyes has dimmed, but has not gone out. She has seen so many things, experienced so much. She is tired, and she is silent. The once fire lit field is now a deep dark green. Almost dead. Clutching the locket in her slender fingers, and still she smiles. The sun breaks through the clouds, and the wind blows harder yet, and again she morphs and changes. She raises her gaze to meet the sun in the sky, smiling, palms upright. Holds her locket to the clouds above her. They accept her gift. It shatters in a spray of silver and pink, floating above her like a crystallized mist. Her eyes light up, her hands at her sides now. I open my eyes. My feet dangle from my seat on this rusted swing set. My face is wet, and I can taste the salt on my tongue. Fingers play with the chains at my side, and the wind gently pushes my hair towards the left. This field is gone, it’s a playground now. I can hear the highway behind me; people on adventures that I have only dreamed of. I stand. I take a step, and another. I hear a car’s horn go off to my right, and I look in surprise to see you standing there. All of you. All sizes, all shapes. All who have touched me in some way. You were there, and so was he, and she and they. I waved, I moved, I embraced. Face still wet, mascara making vertical lines to connect my eyes to my chin. And still I smile.
Das Punk Community Member 
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