I fell in love in the summertime. 

The days were hot and the nights were long and filled with words from the boy I once loved. We slipped around each other in our young confusion, convincing ourselves that we could never be in love, that we were happy in platonic stasis; we obfuscated our feelings for one another in our constant terror that we would be revealed, flatly, as sunstruck. The summer made it all so much worse, the way it turns allergies to hay fever, because when he pressed his back against mine as we sat under the arch, I could feel his sweat through our shirts. I smelled the sun in his hair when I looped my legs around his waist and I fell asleep each night tasting the smiles he gave me. 

I’m restless for him, and when I see the lush of the grass after a violent summer rain I long for the peaks of his ears and the tan of his skin, for the rush and the thrill of being in love in the summertime. 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s