alone
Swing dancing: a metaphor for my love life. Spinning round and round. Being pushed away only to be pulled back. Dizzy and exhilarated, kicked into the air as my feet leave the ground, bent over backwards toward the end, my whole body screaming for a rest but the song is starting again and I can't stop . . . Besides, my partner is leading.
There was a swing that swung all by itself. It was lonely for the children that once would ride on it. The shrieks of its rusty chains seemed to echo their shouts of joy as it threw them into the air and made their lives a little more fun. But then they grew up and left and didn't care about extending the same courtesy to the swing itself. But why worry? It would disintegrate into nothing soon enough.