And You Were Her Hero

She’s long since started to rust, to fall apart. Children run around her, lightly brushing the tips of their fingers along her sides, the braver ones, their whole hands. They climb to the top and sit on her roof, shout at each other, screw around, and she greets them fondly and lets them play because that’s what her boys used to do when they were 7 and 11.They're gone, but there are still two who remember. They will always remember.