I watch them from a bench across the park. A girl flies on the swing, long hair outstreatching, feet tucking in and falling. The boy standing on the swing beside has no intention of catching up. He leans dangerously close to her side, his funny words catching in the wind. She falls back to earth and skids to a stop, looks way up to where he is, says something casual with a strait face. His features sink into a serious bent. He jumps of the swing as she stands and they walk away. I slide my hand over the empty boards of the bench beside me.
Why does it end that way. I wonder.