She closes her eyes and breathes it in,

the fresh air you can only find in the altitudes

at the very top of the jungle gym.

Her root beer barrel eyes open,

and her gaze pierces through her thick,

prescription lenses,

towards the sky.

The air in her lungs puffs up her chest

much like the clouds reflecting off of her glasses.

Her Kool-Aid stained lips,

chapped and peeling,

bloom into a smile—

the kind of smile you try to resist

and makes the muscles in your cheeks ache

and the muscle in your chest

feel at ease.