time (non-linear)

I sit in a playground, I took the long way 'round
The wet grass no longer sits right between my toes
soon the air falls chilly, and the sun, it leaves me
The grass itches and the evening chills through my bones

The swings are now creaky, when once they were easy
and the rusted slide no longer scorches my shins
Instead i sit waiting, on a bench with flaking
old paint, for something to return. that childish grin.