Ficly

One Last Swing

He came here everyday. The same park on the corner of Ivy and Vine streets. And he always sat in the same blue swing. He was waiting for her.
They used to come here as often as they could. They loved to glide and pretend as if they could fly. It was their escape from all the pressures of adolescence. If they could only go high enough, everything would fade away and life would be good.
But then suddenly she had stopped coming. At least when he was around, she wasn’t here.
And he missed her. Her brown hair waving in the breeze. Her brown eyes sparkling with hope. And that smile that could make a guy fall in love. o he kept his vigil, hoping she would reappear.
Then, suddenly, she was there. Tears were streaming down her face and she was calling his name. He began to push her in the swing. Higher and higher until the tears stopped.
He let her slow and pushed her hair out of her face. She beat him to the words that were forming on his lips.
“I love you.” He kissed her cheek, then faded with the sun.

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