Paradise.

And...
Go!

We run away, to the secrets, to the treasure no one knows exists. It's a place whose beauty is unparalleled. You wouldn't see it if you blinked.

We climb off the trams, hearing electricity sparkle and spit at the sky lines, and our little feet can't carry the excitement we bear.

Young, hopeless and lost in a world we'll never see again. You hold onto nothing but the air, and you're close. Very close.

There's a sun shining, there's a place undiscovered, unnoticed but not unloved.
Still, the day's cigarette burns slowly. You adore the summer, and you are in love with this secret place.

It's not hidden, it exists but people seem to like the beach instead. You hate it, the sand. through your little wriggling toes, it hurts when you walk home. But here. Here, it's safe. It's your friend. It's your place.

Leave me to climb the steel. I'm good. I'm too young to know, and too tall to play. But I still play.

The floor, stained with wood chips, hurts softly when I land, but I laugh it off and do the same routine a thousand times over.

I'm covered in dirt. Terrified. It's sunny weather shaded by trees surrounding this vestige of safety. 

We look a messy blur, but we always will act as kids. Give me a hand please. I need to get up, and there's a hand willing. Your hand is gripped and a smile stays on the face. 

You feel like nothing is wrong is the world, because you haven't discovered reality yet. You stay inside this paradise, laughing endless hours away and realise that there is nothing you need except the space to play and be.

I'm here, on top of it all. This cobalt blue steel cable jump is ancient. Thirty or fourty years separate you and this object, but you share the emotions and memories of thousands of others that have attempted and achieved what you have, but for now you do not know this. You are innocence.

Ready to jump, ready to let go of everything for that feeling. That notion, of freedom. That one thing you chase eternally, mortally. You have it as a 6 year old you. Now you know what it was like. Freedom.

My hands reach out to paradise,  but it never calls home.

It stays and waves goodbye with a dry breeze.