I love summer. Love the desperation of it and the way that heat can be something you get molded into. Love watching my skin turn into the olive and brown it has adapted to through six or so generations in the swelter. Love the feeling of grit on the back of my neck and a the shock of knowing that my body can’t tolerate this indefinitely. Love realizing that I must have water.
More than that, I love a cool summer night after a muggy, blastedly hot day and eventual rain. Love the clean smell of it and the momentary respite, sitting in a wooden swing. It reminds me that in about three months I’ll smell something crisp and feel the first tiny breeze of fall just before the summer kicks up into its last, bitchiest wave.
Not The Knowing One 
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