it is a summer of new things,
new-old things,
discovering that which was there all along.
a summer of wanting,
not-knowing,
river rocks and seashells cupped in calloused hands.
a breaking summer,
making summer,
lazy days of cut-dry text and earl grey tea.
a longest summer,
flash-by summer,
thick air nights lit by a thousand cigarettes.
it is a summer of strangeness
of rightness
of worry and wonder.
a summer of love.
