Sunshine. Golden grasses that stick to your jeans and rub against your bare arms. I have stripped tans from my glasses and on my wrists. I run at sunset or sunrise and see the clouds streaked with reds, oranges, pink, and purple. And water: cool blue water to swim in, to drink, to turn my hair into ringlets. Wind in my hair, tangles in my hair. Early mornings with mint tea and high noons with iced tea. Lazy weekends lying shirtless in the sun and exhausting long days, working from sunup to sundown. Smell of thunderstorms, smell of sweat, smell of cut grass, smell of rotting fruit, smell of fresh berries. Blisters on hands, more and more blisters, turn into calluses. Sore arms turn into hardened muscles. Summertime, by Ella Fitzgerald and dancing all night and kissing until the sun comes up and long phone calls with friends. That’s my year of eternal summer.
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