The swing silently creeks, an eerie and lonely sound that is unfamiliar to it.
It misses and craves the company it once had, the company of the star-cross lovers.
There were times when it used to be fought over, that winning a race to it could bring such memorable joy.
The two star-crossed lovers found company and familiarity from it.
They would push each other higher and higher on the swing, trying to touch the sky.
It was a thrill they gained that was almost as good as the long kisses they shared afterwards.
Summer, winter, spring, autumn, rain, hail or shine.
The swing itself is a part of the two star-crossed lovers no more.
Broken hearts, smashed hopes and dreams, tears and misery.
The star-crossed lovers never go to the swing anymore.
The swing silently creeks, an eerie and lonely sound that is unfamiliar to it.