Melanie said someday she's going to move where it is
always summer. This is a
dream she has, with moving her
trailer out of the park and into an open
field in the country with her boyfriend (soon to be her
husband;
she's only 19 and I'll never really know how it got this way, but there you are).
If it was
summer too much of the year I'd ache from scratching bug bites and
crisping in the sun; and beautiful things, too many of them, could warp and jade me.
The last time I
puked I think I'd eaten too many
raspberries.
I do crave a
sun-splattered swimming hole and
open spaces open arms and a bronzed American boy with nearly a
panic-stricken love of everything, the one that used to paralyze me cuz I thought I was the only one. In a worse way, I crave the
moonlit walks and the
feeling of no tomorrow that summer brought only when I was little, before I knew what it meant.