I haven't picked it up in awhile,
Honestly I haven't felt the need to.
But sometimes I can hear its soft metallic voice
Singing to me.
Sometimes I can still feel my blood calling
But now it's barely there.
So now I sit here hoping,
Wishing,
Praying that I really am truly done.

I'm sitting on a swing set,
Barely able to type,
As the memories come flooding back.
Feeling nostalgic, I sit in quiet self-pity,
Remembering my days of innocence.

I'm sure everyone has these moments
So really I'm not all that different.
The difference is my memories,
The faces of friends and the swing set I used to call
My own.
The laughter of children is the same,
The atmosphere of mindless joy is the same,
And the gut wrenching feeling of flying
Is completely and utterly
The same.