Playgrounds are an innocent place.

Built for childhood fun and exploration.

Where one could touch the sky using the swings.

Escaping gravity and embracing imagination.

Wondering if one could take flight entirely.

Why then was I often bothered by the playground?

***

It was not because of my disability.

No, it only happened under certain circumstances.

A combination of two different types of people that were familiar without being in memory.

It was only when I saw a father playing with their child that I became bothered.

I never hated them specifically, but their glee would make it even worse.

A bond and joy hidden from me that could never be.

***

Jealousy, anguish, and frustration as the three heralds of loss.

Intensified every time I asked for just a few hours of his time and denied.

Worse yet, sometimes promised and never fullfilled.

Something I knew to be missing even though I had yet to experience it.

A need I recognized reflected in the faces of the fathers with children at the park.

Never to be answered no matter the effort I put in.

***

I stopped putting in the effort at some point.

I knew where it would lead.

A lesson taught by the nature of a brick wall.

One that had to be taught multiple times even to a good student.

Hope does not die easily or painlessly.

Since the fathers with their child at the park still remain.