Monkey bars Nobody told us that when you grow up you get old. All we wanted was to stretch our spines, flex our fingertips far enough to climb and hold, cling and swing from the monkey bars in the playground small eyes watching small biceps pumping Where did the children go? The ones who strung their cares on the metal bars and flew laughter in on crumpled paper planes, the ones who tiptoed towards that sky-scraping silver staircase and made a game out of cold fingers and palms, cloudy days, aching arms, growing pains
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