Source: 100 Words Prompt #344 – Velvet Verbosity
A little observation from myself, reeking of faux-philosophical undertones, but I do like to think I can write some part of it with metaphors. Or perhaps not. You judge.
There was never a tree whose bough was strong enough to support a swing. Not in a concrete jungle. The only swings were on perfectly sturdy poles, perfectly painted, perfectly balanced, perfectly safe. Engineered to perfection, satisfying the parents who fret at the tiniest scratch. Who bulldoze the road flat if the gradient is just over 1:1.
So forgive me then, if you find the not-yet-adult swinging under a bough, on a swing of rope and plank instead of chain and curved plastic. Perfection is too cold, too cruel; let me have the flaws, treasure it, savour it and live.
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