Lost Playground

This next text along with the last entry are part of a literary experiment if you will of taking one picture and writing about it. What came out we're totally different stories out of the same starting point.

With the last splash of a rememberance wave, One goes back to the sandy playground. -The playground on which the sun shone as brightly as the moon gleams tonight- Thought One. One realises that the salty air brings back memories of dirty hands and green-scraped knees; beacons of paradise lost.The high pitched giggles and cackles One can hear in the echoes made by the cold steel tubes, can only be matched in warmth by the loud pink sunsets that saw them run away into mornings of deep blue skies.One rose those mornings to be raised a man, and somehow, lost the hang of it along the way. One's core feelings have never been as intense as those gravity-defying sensations cartwheels and tumbles gave him, One reflects.Yet, One chose it to be so. Took the last plunge down from the slide. Not as much Them pushing as One letting go. Still, One knows, reminded as one is by the sway of the swings, that the only thing it takes to set things right, is a 360° turn around the world.

-Kim Piaget