Swing girl

She wore eleven years and a shirt striped grey. Her glasses and braces gave her false innocence. She watched me on that swing, soaring up, and then returning down with gravity. I knew she was watching me. The sun beat down on my back, but I continued swinging higher and higher towards the clouds. I was putting on a show for the gazing girl. She kept watching, and I knew she had a sense of envy. It had to be true.
The youthful girl began to approach me. I had absolutely no idea of what she was going to do. There were no empty swings around me. Maybe she would try to strike up a conversation. With each step, a new idea of what could possible happen. She finally make it to my swing. One step closer and my swing would have hit her on the way down.
“Can I use your swing?” she asked.
My thoughts stopped.
My energy stopped. My swing almost came to a halt, but was still alive in those final few swings.
This was my swing. This swing took me to the clouds. I certainly did not want to give it up.
I had never been asked for my swing to be taken away. I was in complete shock.
Where were these girl’s manners? When I was eleven I surely waited in line for my valued swing.
“Sure,” I said.