The swing creaks, creaks, creaks as the water drizzled down from the sky. His hoodie was drenched, his long hair soaked with water. He swung slowly, not making it very high. He hummed, looking to his right to find an empty swing. He stopped swinging completely, and reached out his hand. The touch of cold metal bit his finger tips, the chains being worn, wet and frigid. His hand slowly left the chains, like if he let go, he’d lose something precious. He finally gripped the chains of his swing once again and looked at the grass beneath his feet. Tears streamed down his face, mixed in with mud and rain. He stood up and wiped his tears, walking slowly towards the fence on his left. His blue jeans were caked in mud and rain, his hoodie drenched. His hands were in his sleeves, hiding away from the cold air that surrounded him. He made it to the edge of the fence and bent down, putting his hand out. He stood back up, holding a yellow dandelion in his hand. He turned and slowly made his way back towards the swings, his breathing shaky. He made it to the swings once again, this time standing in front of the one on the right. He carefully set the flower down in the seat and muttered, ¨I guess I always come back to the swings.¨
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