I remember when I was a kid,
I found digging in the sand the best part of the park,
It wasn’t the swings that made us
go so high that we felt like we could fly up into the sky.
It wasn’t the spiraling slides that gave us an
electric shock.
It wasn’t the pogo rides where others would race
each other despite not going anywhere.
 
It was digging in the sand.
Molding it into shapes that would soon dissolve.
I relish the feeling of the way the sand feels.
How you can have millions of specks going through your hands smoothly.
 
All the grains kept me company when no one else would.
They would brush up against my skin comfortingly.
Telling me that they were here for me;
But I knew that it was only a matter of time before they fell out in between my fingers.
Then back to the rest of their grains,
where they belong.
While I stay separated from the sand, always.
As I get taken away from the sand,
I realize that I’m going to my own grains.
To belong with them.
 
Sometimes I go back to the sand.
Then I keep digging.
At the time when I was young.
I didn’t know what I was digging for,
Now that I think about it…..
I’m digging for the best way to have fun.