Today I am 152 months old: 21 years and a month. Today I went home - I guess you could say my 'real' home. I swing on my swing and climbed the same Big Toy that I was once too little to play on. The pole I once didn't know how to slide down, the tunnel slide (that the boys used to pee down). The same place where I dreamed of being a baseball player, won and lost fights and friendships, cried and laughed, bled and sang, held mini Olympics, 'Stars on Ice' (I think we were all clowns as none of us could really skate), broke my leg, had shoe-kicking contests, played with dinky cars, yellow monkey, catch, volleyball, Tarzan, Ghostbusters, house, hide and go seek and had wiener roasts. No one seems to play here any more. The sand that was once soft and capable of sand castles is now hard and weed ridden. The ice rink never filled with skaters and the fire pit is covered in graffiti.
My childhood resided here. There was always someone to play with here.
It is no longer mine.
It is empty and rather sad looking. I was part of it's glory days.
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