Before a breath in, it is there— muggy, swampy, heavenly. Before a barefoot step outside, sweat folds into the skin and won’t let go
that time they write about is upon us. Consider this the preface to a 19th summer.
Where you sneak around drinking sub-par humid beer, stolen from the forgotten bucket left outside. The June when you finally get to see what all the fuss is about— a sweaty push and pull you’ve wondered about for years.
Freedom is before you, released from the shackles of high school, from a love that came too quickly, and refused to leave.
get on that train, into that car that you can finally touch; do things with that boy you don’t love.
Home has never felt more like home than when you’re on the porch, venturing into a midnight that is dripping with warmth and the knowledge that never again could you feel this young and this old.