Dreamland Natalia Vodianova

Anna Weyenberg | Sun-bleached

i’ve known this swing set for one day, my father has known it for almost five months now. the rotting wood and rusty chains and the sun-bleached plastic that once belonged to the laughter and tiny hands of another family, now belong to wrinkled hands, freckled from years in the sun, and lungs filled with thick cigarette smoke, and blood fused with burning alcohol it took me five months to see his new home, the one he lives alone in. i don’t resent him; he was there for my laughter and tiny hands. but in some way, i know he won’t be there for my wrinkled hands, freckled from my years in the sun. and i know he won’t be here for their brand-new swing set with fresh chopped wood and shiny chains, and their tiny hands.