It was an old swingset. It had been there for years, and almost every single one of those years it brought children joy. But not last year.
Infact, it hadn't seen children in at least five years, but the time had passed in a forgettable way. Occasionally, the wind would blow and the battered seats would sway, hitting the chains which would sigh with painful replies.
No one knew it was there.
Not even the bluebirds.

There were two boys. One seventeen, one nineteen. They may have been brothers or best friends. Deep down, they both knew they were both of those things. The eldest had suspicious, lonely eyes and a slim figure. The youngest, tall and thin like his brother, had bright eyes that saw everything that went on around him.

On that Tuesday in June, or maybe July, they took the day off, since they hadn't hung out like the used to.

Back to the swingset; it knew the boys. It knew each ones laugh, the grip of there hands, the hours they would spend swinging away their troubles. It longed to see them again.

And the boys came.
They sat gently on the swings, afraid they might crumble. They each lifted their heads towards the sun and let the summer swallow them up like it used to.
The boys were happy.

The youngest clung to his necklace, fashioned carefully into the shape of an anchor. The day his brother brought it to him it was bright, like his eyes. Now it was tarnished and weathered, like his brothers. He thought of the sad eyes and frowned.
Where had his smiling eyes gone?

"What are you thinking about?" The words came out of the eldest mouth coldly.



"You." The answer brought stress down onto their lives, like another problem that wasn't there moments ago.

The eldest bit down on his thumb nail and tried to process what his brother had said.

"Why would you think of me?"
He couldn't help but sound sad these days.

"I miss you." The swingset creaked in agreement. It had missed both of them.

The eldest turned his head, hiding the tears from his brother. Truthfully, he had missed his brother, too, and it brought both pain and happiness to think that someone cared about him. He couldn't remember why he had wanted to avoid his brother the way he did the past couple years.

"Are you crying?" The youngest asked, placing a light hand on his shoulder.

"No. Boys don't cry." He stepped off the swingset and crunched across the rotting woodchips that he used to run through, his brothers following close behind.

"Don't leave me." The youngest pleaded, taking the eldest hand in his.

"I won't." It was said with honesty.

And so the two brothers walked away, knowing somehow that they would never return to the swingset and that no one else would. They knew that in a matter of months it would collapse, and no one would notice.

And they were right.
Not even the bluebirds noticed it was gone.