Summer was long days of reading in my room or playing in the yard,
watermelon and sunshine,
chlorine smells and star patterned swimsuits,
my own little world of intrigue and imagination.
summer was long days of loneliness and guilt for feeling lonely,
tears shed under a pine tree at a park,
writing pages dripping in drama and emotion,
missing people I thought never missed me back,
summer was being so in love that my heart was a firework show,
long busy days, and evenings staying up as late as we could to prolong saying goodbye,
long sleepless nights of watching Netflix in bed,
counting down the days til we had our own little house and could do whatever we wanted.
summer is sitting in an air conditioned building all day, staring longingly out the window,
trying to learn what I want to be in this phase of thinking I might not be as independent as I thought I’d be
letting little things like hot air balloons and the taste of fire roasted S’mores fill me with wonder
and letting my mind linger in the future.
I don’t know, I guess that was a poem?