Spielplatz

Im standing here, surrounded by a carpet of golden, crisp autumn leaves, and I cant help but feel like Ive stumbled into a surreal, slightly melancholic playground. This isnt just any slide its a sleek, silver serpent, curved and gleaming, like something from a sci-fi dream, coiled between trees that whisper secrets of seasons past. The child, tiny and blurry with motion, is already racing toward the bottom, chasing the wind, the rustle of leaves, the thrill of gravity. And me? Im just an observer, a quiet witness, caught between the childs boundless energy and the woman standing at the top arms crossed, eyes wide, perhaps wondering if this slide will ever end or if its just an endless, beautiful, slightly absurd loop. Its not just a playground. Its a moment suspended in time, a quiet rebellion against gravity and routine. Im here, in the fall, under the slide, wondering if this is a test or if the real test is just how much longer I can stand here, breath held, leaf by leaf, heart beating with the rhythm of childhood and autumn.

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