Chlorine. Sunscreen. Hot pavement baking under the sun.

Then screaming.

The kind that sounds like summer ripping through somebody’s lungs.

You step inside and instantly,
the rules evaporate.

Kids sprint past you.
Water cannons firing.
Flip flops abandoned everywhere like people disappeared mid-thought.

The giant water bucket at the splash pad tipping over,
dumping a tidal wave onto a crowd of eager targets below.

Just wet hair and immediate, undeniable freedom.

You climb endless stairs barefoot, chlorine clinging to your skin.

The lifeguard nods.

You drop.

Swirling around the funnel.
Weightless.
Until the final plunge throws you back into yourself.

You shoot out the bottom disoriented, breathless, alive.

Everything is loud.
Bright.
Sticky.
Ridiculous.

You float down the lazy river staring up at the sky,
sun warming your face,
water carrying you without asking where you’re headed.

And somewhere in between it all,
you remember —

Fun doesn’t have to be earned.