It’s the time of the year wherein we simultaneously become ingredients in God’s stew and enjoy doing so. It is also the time of the year in which we are gifted with a rare amount of freedom, and unless you’re part of the unlucky ones who have school and work during the months of summer, said days of freedom (I counted 73 until I am once again imprisoned in my education) are usually filled with adventure and leisure. And here, in all glory of documentation, are my own.
She’s beautiful like summer, he thinks, beautiful and tragic like summer; warm, the days with her filled with anticipation, with free-spirited excitement and adventure and comfort. Her touch is the scorching heat, her voice the call of the waves against the shore, her eyes the brightness of the yesterdays remembered and the futures to be made, her lips the escape to jungles and seas; to adventure; to anywhere; to nowhere. Her presence lingers and never stays, but there it is, her raucous laughter turning into a serene tilt of her lips; the promise of return in her smile; the cool breeze setting in as she turns to leave.