The air around me is heavy with all the promises you breathed to me in a heartbeat that, I, failed to miss. The smell of soap on your t-shirt so smoky, it fills my throat and hangs suspended there until I gulp down the horrors that I quite didn’t anticipate. I thought summer was beautiful until I felt the heat of you spreading through me like a wildfire, blazing my insides and torpedoing the remains of hope I’ve been hiding within.
The night never was darker, the days never brighter. The weekends weren’t merrier and the wine never sweeter. It was the summer that swallowed me in its wake, like a thunderstorm with wings capitulating me ruthlessly. I was floundering with ease, counting our breaths like a ritual I’ve held dear to me.
Some odd years down the lane, the memories inside your shoe box smother me, photographs drowned with sepia that lie inside the bag pack I refuse to be apart from give me a gist of a fairy tale that we could have been. But I swallow the summer whole and look away at the horizon wondering if that’s how it was supposed to be?