salty tears

three.

january 12th | 9:43 pm

I sobbed, like a child who had their lollipop taken away from them, while at the park today. I was fortunate enough to have not seen many people there. Even if it's a stranger, I don't want them to see me cry over a swing set. Or a slide. Or some monkey bars.

I really miss my childhood. Despite it not being the best of the best, it was still something memorable to me. The innocence of it had a special place in my heart. It was a lot of fun we had then. The park was full of great memories.

It wasn't my sole purpose to go and cry over a stupid park. It was accidental. I only wanted to go out for a walk because of the fog. It was truly great and made me feel so small. I loved the fog. The entire neighborhood was blocked out by it, I needed to take a walk. I wanted to live in it forever. So I went ahead and took a walk, figured it'd make for a good entry. Upon my walk, I stumbled across the playground. it was the same old playground I had played on when I was younger. It hadn't changed much throughout the years, only a few coats of new paint but that's all.

I got an urge to go on the slide. When I was going to enter, I happened to catch the sign on the gate. It said something along the lines of children ages thirteen and above weren't 'allowed' to play in the park. It stopped me for a second, I wasn't expecting that.

But knowing me, a rebellious fifteen-year-old, I would continue on in the park because I had this strange determination of going on that slide.

Lo and behold, I slid on the yellow slide. With the fog and all, I was a child. Less happy but still a child. I didn't leave the slide, I felt glued to it. It was a reminder of how I was growing up. Growing up to be a sad woman. A woman who would still be lost even after someone tells her the same thing three times in a row. I'd be that woman. That's how I started to cry. It was a soft cry at first, the one where it doesn't hurt much because there's not a lot of feelings involved.

Then everything went downhill from there.

There was a particular memory I had of the park. It was one where my older brother, Cody, had brought me to play with his friends. I was probably around seven while this happened. They were all chasing each other but I was slow. I've always been slow. I was slow and quiet. The quiet came in handy quite often. While we played hide and seek, I was the seeker, they hid behind this rock. The rock was really big and it could hide them all. I spotted them. I didn't run towards them, instead, I slowly crept up to them hoping to give them a good scare, just for the laughs of it. While I crept closer and closer I could hear their soft whispers. I was nosy and decided to give it a listen. I know exactly what they said at that moment.

One of his friends said, "Your sister is taking long to find us eh?"

My brother responded, "Yeah, tell me about it," Then he started laughing quietly, "I'm starting to think she won't go far in the future if she can't even find us."

They all laughed at that. Absolutely soul crushing for a seven-year-old. From that comment on, my brother kept on insulting me behind my back. Whatever happened to the brother that actually cared about me? I'd like to think now that maybe he was just trying to be funny but it's hard to believe.

I didn't even go up to them to tell them I found them, I left and went home.

That memory really made me cry then, it made me cry so much that my chest was hurting. Breathing was difficult. My mouth was slightly opened and I still remember the salty taste my tears had. While crying, I managed to get myself off the slide and swing on the stupid swing. The swing was blue and the paint was chipping off. I swung a bit hoping that my tears would dry and I would cease to cry anymore. It worked.

Never imagined that a children's playground would make me cry. The world has been full of surprises lately.

Anyways, that's the sad story of how I cried some tears at the park and there isn't much I wish for today but there might be one thing I wish to have: a chance to relive my childhood.