Autumn leaves blow random wild a Harlequin in scarlet cloak spring and summer's fated child he dances freely with the breeze and does not seem to know or care that harsher colder winter winds will one day strip him bare
I forget that reading week Has a hold on me Five fingers wrapped around my throat Holding me under Under the sheets Trapped in my head Fighting myself And the thoughts that bubble over after being hidden for so long Are deafening
I've got the January blues, The Monday heaviness, A kind of Tuesday Sadness. I've got the Wednesday empties, The Thursday lonelies, And a Friday full of Madness. Saturdays are cold and grey While Sundays seem to slip away, And the week recycles into blandness.
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.