My grandma's house was enormous to me when I was little. The inside was for my toys and her painting, the outside was for adventures. She had an endless backyard and the most entertaining trees. My favorite was the orange tree because it held my swing.
My swing wasn't a swing, though. It was a flying chair, and with it I could almost touch the sky. My face was so close to the clouds I could almost feel them grazing my skin, kissing my cheeks. I'll never forget the feeling in my stomach when I lurched backward, promising the sky I'd be back. I haven't been there in 10 years, but I'll make good on my promise. You can't just go around making empty promises to an innocent sky.
