And suddenly it’s August and the whole summer has slipped silently through my fingers. It’s a warm night, but cold when I open the windows. Early fall is blowing but I cling to the familiar thickness of August air.
I think about this summer; a summer of saltwater skin and learning to drive, of stargazing and laughing ‘til my stomach ached. And I get a sickening sensation that I’ll never feel this humid summer happiness again. Sixteen summers and not a single one was long enough.
I’m wishing it were June – wishing I could fall in love with the sunlight and smell the air all over again. But I know that even when this summer ends I’ll still have the quiet of 2am and a sky full of stars to kiss goodnight.