When I was young there was this lonely tree with a tire swing in the middle of an expansive, green valley. I wanted to swing from it, but there was this line of people miles and miles long in front of me. I didn’t know what to do while I waited, so I saw what others were doing and I mimicked. I knitted. I took naps. I experimented with drugs and wrote a bad screenplay. I turned 20. I spent a night in jail. I read a few books. I had sex. I became sad. I turned 33. I got married. I had an affair. I went through surgery. I made love. I turned 42. Some people died around me and I took their place in line. I married again and had a kid. I became happy. She stood with me in line. I turned 70. I was left figuring out myself what to do in line as more people died around me. I laughed. I looked straight up as it rained so the raindrops looked like stars. My daughter had a son. She became happy. I reached the swing when I was 81. But I wasn’t able to get in or hold on, so I let my grandson have a go. It was all fine with me. I watched and I smiled.
Worried about it's length, but I'll try.
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