rubber wheels
There used to be worn out rubber wheels that fit snugly against much smaller feet, they used to lie haphazardly around messy rooms, laces permanently knotted in a patten too incorrect to unravel, soles so worn out from carrying the weight of the soul my mother loved so much.
There now is broken wheel, balancing precariously against boxes in the attic, boxes that used to be so full of memories and love, now bring only nostalgia and tears. The laces unraveled one random summer, and there were no little hands to knot them up once again, the patten they had was lost to the constant ticking of a clock.
There still is a constant hum of concrete against plastic, outside every evening. Still tinkling laughter and joyful yelling. The kids that race past the houses have different smiles on their faces, different skates on their feet.
They still run like birds from a cold winter, like restless spirits that refuse to be bound down. They talk shamelessly of their newest treehouse, and do not hold the burden of mortgages and taxes in their heads, only cartons of toys and games in their hands.
Roller skates still defy the laws of physics and speed, ignoring the fiery friction that heats up the bottom of rubbery wheels. But soon enough they will be ignored in the passage of time, hidden away in cardboard boxes for only memories to find and adults to keep.
@ChrisSadhill