Summer fills me with nostalgia in a way that I cant explain. But when the air hears up and the black ants crawl all over our house I find myself remembering when we covered the window with sheets so we could sleep when it was still light.
Most years I was alone, friends not good enough to contact outside of school. I stayed up late in bed reading every night. It was during summer that I stumbled on my first podcast, on my first ****** novel, on my first question of gender. In the heat of summer I sought change. Alone, I struggled with questions of college and career and the future. I despaired, sobbing into my pillow until I fell asleep.
Summer is full of possibility, of the past, of the future. I caught fireflies out on the lawn, I put cicada husks in a jar and kept a tally, I invented games for myself and my sisters. I work late nights and come home to a warm house. I eat cereal for 3 meals a day. The rules don't apply to Summer.
It is a quarter past June, and already it seems like a record setting summer. Sprinklers and the scent of chlorine filled pools, as I walk in my street-worn shoes to my sanctuary.
The lifeless blacktop park where my will and the heat-embracing pavement meet. A well-manicured backyard tree hangs its verdant leaves just over its owner’s fence. Like a lifeline for life reaching out to me.
I stick and I move, as the sweat cleans the dirt and despair from my face. Like a sunshine superman, I drink UV rays into my bones. Alone I feel whole. The disinfecting flames of summer have begun to melt the cold rot encasing my soul.
Embrace the light from the sun, because one day we will plead with darkness to feel it on our face once more.
The summer heat welcomes heart rate The affection I show, you negate My heads burning up My hearts breaking apart You never know how cold the last goodbye is Until you’re buried alive Frozen in the middle of July
As sure as rain in the spring or heat in the summer, this year is looking promising to be another ******. But as sure as the cold in the winter and fall, My friends will be there To help me through it all.
Often travelers who start to thirst Are greeted by a vision Perhaps of an oasis Perhaps maybe even a whole caravan But although the traveler May seem so content His vision tempting his salivation Throat cracking The heat beating him down Bones dried upon the sand Calling for the lost prayers From false gods