I should’ve had a hedonistic summer, a roundup of long, sun-kissed days and even longer, undulant, kissing nights.

There are no riviera pics this year - set against the blow-out backdrop of Saint Tropez or Heraclee - with their sunlit-deliriums, cracked plaster beach bars, aromatic trailing Jasmine, lavender, umbrella pines and baking Socca.

No nights of dense, optimistic nihilism on neon-painted open-air dancefloors, or gritty, underground raves, in dark, brick-clad, light-strobed basements.

And no timeless, sun-drenched, beachside early mornings, with their moments of stillness, beauty and reprieve.

Summer feels can’t be vicarious - you have to get out there and get *****, hmm, sandy anyway. Are there ethical implications to basking under a climate-crisis sun? Maybe, but if so, do we care?

Let’s wax poetic..

Summertime often sees us jetting off to different places.

If I could travel anywhere
let it be outer-space
not floating in darkness,
for years and years
let’s find a better way.

I’ve traveled to the moon
- on a little friction -
that isn’t even science fiction.

I’ve traveled simply by turning pages.
It didn’t take fuel and it didn’t take ages.

That was travel at the speed of thought,
but better yet, let’s travel at the speed of sight
- that’s faster than light.
.
.
Songs for this:
Relationships by HAIM
Summer Sun by Koop
Summer Girl (Bonus Track) by HAIM

And to say, “find yourself a fit woman running laps on your mind –
and catching her breath just means she’s sitting comfortably on
your lap,” is really just a sprint into pleasing the flesh, a race with
no real finish line. And to say you haven’t tasted her in a while,
where one bite makes you relapse – a crack in the glass, it takes two
to tango… but when she starts throwing shade, you start asking
about her love, and where did that perfect tan go.

Maybe I’ve had many partners, but truthfully, most only lived in
my head – my biggest problem was always thinking too far ahead.
A big head, as the women I never touched became intimate in
dreams, yet so intimidating in real life. My insecurity became these
imagined thoughts, and those thoughts made them always fly away.
As my love sickness was a cluster of flu – practicing patience, yet
overthinking until everything failed before it could even start.
A real lack of patience in the heart, and that headache turned into
heartache.

Sure, if I’d asked more of them out, we might have dated – but I
was so out of touch with myself that I felt so outdated. They could
have been less shy, but I was more convinced I wasn’t much of an
impressive guy. Expressive, yes – more direct in invitation, but
never showing up to the party in the end. It isn’t easy for most,
but I felt like I had the most to lose – a heart.

Now I see: I was chasing love as a boy, not building it as a man.
And the truth? It lands heavier when you start by being truthful
with yourself –that’s the only way to fully understand.

Through silver mist, my paddle dips,
A gentle glide where silence slips,
My canoe whispers secrets to the lake
Chasing echoes your ghostly wake.

Veiled in fog, my path unclear,
Yet drawn forward, I feel you near.
Each Paddle a question softly cast,
Through waters calm, beyond the past.

Your presence, magic woven thin,
Guides my heart, this trance I'm in.
The pond breathes slow beneath my hand,
Pulling gently toward unknown land.

I chase the shadow of your glow,
Where lilies dream and whispers flow.
Through misty worlds my soul aligns
In fog, your memory intertwines.

No rush, just peace, a calm embrace,
I paddle toward your gentle trace.
The mystery holds no fear for me,
For in this fog, you're all I see.

Beneath the hush, I'm safely led,
By ghostly trails your spirit’s shed.

If I built a door would you enter,
or deadbolt from your side,
cross it double with thick iron bars,
& lock me out again?
I ask because
I’ve long been taking measurements
& cutting wood…
I will not build a door into a room where I’m not wanted.
I do not wish to trouble you (The One I Love)
with doorways undesired.
This wall is thick, the doors just open into nowhere,
or open not at all…
Maybe I can build no more than just a skylight
through which the wish of hope might not even shine…
Still, I’ll cut & measure.
Perhaps, Someday I’ll find something Open by your hand…
or perhaps that, too,
is not in the future
…
Sorrowful
‘Twas a failed connection
might there ever be a “next”
to offer something real?

-Anvita Dharma

The fabrics of time are like a silky material.
Once it's gone, it's gone.
It slips through my hands and falls so effortlessly on the floor.
It plops down
Restless.
I try and try and ache and ache to pick it up.
Just to feel its soft warmth on my skin again but too late.
It has fallen, it is still falling.
I tilt my head back and see it is falling deeper and deeper.
It is getting later and later.
When will it ever stop escaping my grasp?
When does time ever stop falling?
It slips from grasp just out of my reach.
Just a bit too late.
When will it ever harden?
When will time freeze and when will it be in my grasp again?
I can feel the heat rising.
The tension is boiling.
The silk is almost at my finger tips.
Once again I feel its warmth enlighten my hand.
It sits in my palm ever so elegantly,
Just waiting to fall.
Waiting to be lost.

A bright beam of light
It fell right into my eyes
Now searching that light

What if I miss
A list
Flurries in the wind
Jumping out of hand

Lucky-opportunist
Grating against the limits
Beyond the town
Falling out of pace

I am the afterthought.
Not the friend they call just to talk,
Not the person they’re excited to see,
Not the thought that lingers when the room is empty.

Am I at least almost?
Almost important, almost wanted,
Close enough to matter,
But never enough to stay.

People care, in passing.
A kind word, a fleeting thought,
But never the one they miss,
Never the one they need.

I wonder what it’s like to be chosen,
To be the one someone can’t bear to lose.
But I am only here when it’s convenient,
A placeholder,
A second choice,
A name they forget until they need something.