Instance
I looked at the little girl sitting beside me on the swings.
I looked at how small she was for the seat the swing provided.
I spied the cuts her long sleeves could not hide from sight.
I saw the dress, the one her father gave her.
I saw her swaying, holding the bars like a lifeline.
I never planned on meeting her by the swings, but—maybe—
I, in her twisted mind, had orchestrated the meeting.
I watched as she paid me no mind.
Ink stained her, red bleeding through her existence.
I watched as they pulled her away.
I wanted to protest, for the swings were where she had only ever found peace.
I discovered that peace has a way of leaving us when we need it the most.
I guess that's the funny thing about peace:
we bask in it without knowing when we might truly need it.
I watched as they tossed her into the tiny grave.
I realized how small she was, barely even three feet.
Graves and crypts-
The day should have worn sorrow's grey,
Instead, all I could see was the beaming sun,the rustling leaves, the creaking swings, and-
the specter of the girl I used to be.
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