We Play Again
The world was our playground.
Yunior Rivas
You’re suddenly weightless. Like you’ve shed years of carefulness, and every mistake is something you’d giggle about while hiding behind the swings. The sun hangs heavy and the air is faint of sweet grass and possibility.
There’s an innocence to this wild, unguarded affection.
You sit together, knees pressed close, sharing secrets like shiny marbles. Their voice makes you want to tilt your head, not in analysis, but in wonder, as if they’re the first person to name the constellations just for you.
And though you’re grown now, with all the clumsy armor adulthood demands, they somehow make you soft again. They make you brave enough to play, to leap from the monkey bars of your own fears, laughing when you fall, because isn’t falling just another way of reaching?
The world becomes simple again. Just two hearts, hands barely touching, ready to make mistakes, ready to be kids in a world that demands so much more.
Before life taught you to fear the edges, you believed the world was endless, and you were invincible.
In their eyes, you might just be again.