By Tamara Bašić
The creaky swingset is where we used to spill secrets onto the asphalt, cementing vows of forever and always under the scorching sun. No shade had been provided against midday by surrounding trees; we would laugh at sunburnt arms like invincible teenagers, music blaring through shared earbuds, legs pushing at air as we soared high, high, higher into air until reality was blurring at the edges.
In the peak of summer, we bet against daylight to see who could stick around longer – tired skies paid our winnings in galaxies, hundreds of stars laughing at our stubbornness. There was no delight greater than throwing our heads back, eyes shut, and rushing through days as if autumn wasn’t lounging around the corner with rain-soaked hands.
Maybe we were too blinded by the sun to notice the storms between us, awaiting to wash us apart.
Tamara Bašić (she/her) lives in Croatia, where she is frequently trying to pluck gorgeous sentences from her thoughts and write them into poetry. She can also often be found reading, trying to become a polyglot, staring at the sky in awe, and viciously daydreaming. Her work is also featured in Southchild Lit, Ice Lolly Review, celestite poetry, Lavender Lime Literary, fifth wheel press, Roi Fainéant, and elsewhere. For more writings and updates, you can follow her on social media @authortamarab
The Birdseed 