Tuesday, June 10, 2014


And I smell like chlorine from the night swim at Cam's tiki torch lit Oracular Spectacular resonating pool. I smell like sweat from boarding seven miles to aimless adventures. My hands smell like lakewater from scrambling to catch frogs with the boys after sunset. And I'm torn between the toxic urge to laugh at the constant movements of our bodies and souls in torn shoes and old, precious cars or to fall down in the most satisfied exhaustion.
Summer is in the dirt under my fingernails from digging in the hot earth. The wild days and nights left their sacred mark of youth on me with bruised knees and scarred shins. Foolishly, but perhaps wisely, I hope the wounds leave scars behind so I can always remember what it feels like to run around rooftops with Stevo and Cam after midnight; to lay on the ground by the fire amidst the stars, the lake, and the people I love, the imprint of the grass on my leg when I stand; to pack in the backseat, everyone's hands feeling the summer dusk out the windows as smooth hip hop plays; to climb trees with Erika simply because we can; to dance on the patio with hair wild and wet from the pool, bodies bared, towels barely around waists and shoulders, faces reflecting madly from the high of summer, glowing in the firelight. I want to always remember how it feels to be truly young with people you love so much it hurts.
-written June 3, 2014


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