Summer Stories

entries from a long summer

Late June & July

I remember things well. Maybe a little too well. All my memories are perfectly stored inside of me, like a strange vault. That, after time, reminds me of every detail I store for the people I care about. I’ll remember what cereal you told me you ate as a kid, the first time I met you, the last words I heard you say. But here’s a secret. I won’t ever let you know how brilliant my memory is. Because I love to hear you tell the stories I’ve already heard over and over again. And I want to remember this summer, this might be the last “real” summer I get. I’m going to remember all of it, the good and bad.

I am going out to meet friends I haven't seen in a while. We have stopped texting long ago. I miss them. And I hope they miss me too. But that’s the past. We forget it as we linger in the present. All of the lights, thrashing, smiles, and how I get you to dance. You get me dancing, too. All this fun disguised under our 9-5’s and business suits. I don't want to think before we depart. The drive home reminds me that I am far from a world I yearn to be in. I don’t quite know what world exactly, but it’s kinetic and greater than this stagnant, humid air I am trapped in.

Will I forever be stuck in this feeling? Feeling sticky and warm, from the chlorine and sunscreen. People I have met hours prior, in a circle with green eyes, telling stories about who likes who, or who slept with who, or who wants to sleep with who (and who regrets sleeping with who). Making dinners with friends. In the passenger seat, listening to songs I've never heard of before. Head full of the night breeze. Up all night, ‘til the stars call it quits before we do. Just to play adult by 8 am the next day. Having languid conversations with people online, knowing it can’t go any further than the little texts on my screen. It’s easy to pretend nothing hurts, you know. Swipe it left to forget, swipe right to linger on those memories a little longer. There’s this pair of blue eyes I’ve known for a while that pulls me into their intoxicating haze. But I swear I won’t bite, but I’ll keep admiring you from afar. I’m doing good for myself. Pushing down all the stones from the winter and spring, letting myself soak in the summer, until the sun is all I remember.

The sun goes down, and I still have to go to sleep. Is it true that nothing can hurt you in your dreams? Because I wake up haunted by my disgruntled feelings. Dreams, overrun by the heart, soak into my morning. It’s all hazy, euphoric, and strenuous to my mind. The only thing my body wishes for is that this year could just be a long, heavy dream. I’ll wake up from it and be fine. I was never hurt, touched, or in love. But at this moment, I’m getting the love I deserve. If I say it enough, it's true, right?

August

Summer’s only getting hotter as I boil into a cold, hard stone. Maybe I’m getting older and more mature; life has worn me down. I don’t believe in the hope I used to. There are things I want to say, people I want to save, but I can’t– I won’t. I’m disappointed. I’m disappointed in letting myself get too close. Like a baby deer that trusts the hands of a hunter, because it holds out berries. You think it's a friend, they mean no harm. Then they lift their shotgun and turn you into a decal that hangs from their wall. Everyone in this world is selfish and strange. I don’t understand humanity, I think. I’ve been bruised by humility and false optimism that I wanted to believe.

I cry at work occasionally, but they haven’t caught on. They haven’t seen me in anything less than a smile. I don’t need to become a weight for them to worry about. I tend to suffocate people with my presence until they claw their way out because they need room to breathe. I’m sorry, I’ll keep more to myself. I’ve been conditioned to believe that loving me is too hard. All I can do is give your life a menial purpose until you have no more use for me.

I understand that all things end eventually. This summer will end when Earth decides she wants us to feel cold. My college years the closeset they will ever be, soon will become a growing distance in the rear-view mirrors. There are secrets I keep from almost everyone; maybe one day I’ll regret holding my tongue. Hopefully, that’s after I stop getting panic attacks every time I get behind the wheel. And the portraits of the ones from my past will fade like an artist’s draft. I don’t understand being human. I don’t understand how the trials and pains balance out with the smiles and beauty. This life is convoluted, and I hope I didn’t fuck it up too much already, because I can’t retry. I’ll get it right in the next life, if those exist. Until then, I’ll become all I promised you I would be. I’ll cover my mirrors until I can finally look at my reflection without thinking that this was once the face of someone you loved. I’ll write until I can find something more beautiful, bigger than all of this. I won’t write your name in the sand at the beach. Or maybe I will, just one more time, to let the tide erase it from me. In every life, I’ll be braver. And I won’t cry as much.

Maybe there’s more in life than just you — I doubt it, though. I’ll keep trying in the midst of it all.

September (Now)

Everything is changing, yet it's all still the same. I still remember things too well. A friend asked me a few weeks ago, Don’t you miss the people you no longer talk to? And sometimes I do miss them. I’ll see something that reminds me of their favorite food or favorite TV show. I’ll smile, and I love them for the memories we share. Because in those beautiful, crystalized moments, we never hurt each other. Not a victim nor villain, just friends. So I think fondly of it for a couple of seconds, and then I move on.

No one told me acceptance happens at unexpected times. Sitting in my living room, in the middle of class, lying in bed. It doesn’t really feel like a load that was dropped off, because it's been shedding itself away slowly over time. There is a resolution to my grief, and I’m at the finish line. I don’t understand how it happened, but I know I don’t feel this way out of spite; I really mean it. For all the various people I gave my heart to: I really don’t love you anymore, and I don't think I ever will again. Such a beautiful thing to say. I talked with friends on the phone, reminding me of where my home truly is. With the mess that I call my families, both the one I was born with and the ones I chose. I can’t regret, but I’ll let those memories coexist inside of me. I forgive a lot of people from my past. Some don't deserve my forgiveness, but I’ll give it to them anyway.

I believe we are given one last glimpse before both time and memory must turn itself inward. The brown glimmer in your eyes, that prominent curly strand in your hair, your favorite pair of shoes. I think I knew it then. That this will be the last time life will let us coexist in the same space. I learned not to be selfish, not to be forever greedily craving a final glance. And all these little things will haunt like a bad stain or a childhood scar. Until you don’t quite remember how it got there, it’s just there. I’ll go on, like I always do.

I realized that there’s some good in me. That I’m still fighting to uncover. I was told that I was beautiful, but no one ever reminds me of it. But I know it’s all deep inside of me. With my pessimism and hope, it’s a beautiful, murky spiral of life.

Fall is coming in rough and all at once. I forgive nature for her brash tendencies of arrival. I feel so lost and dazed every time someone asks me about my future. I feel so afraid when people younger than me look up to me. They admire me, like I’m someone special. Didn’t they get the memo that I was once them, admiring the older students like they were my lifeline, and I was desperate for air? That I am still like them— equally excited, scared, and lost at all times, just a little braver.

I have friends, close and far away, my love travels along with them. I have acquaintances and others I dream of seeing again. This life is peculiar. I wish there were a manual. If there was, I would be somewhere far away, someone much different than myself. Maybe running through life with a trial and error mindset is for the best. Cheers to that. And cheers to you, reader. You either care (or enjoy a hate-read) enough to read this entire thing. So text me or call me when you want someone to chat to. I love extra penpals, even if we are just down the road. Cheers to Fall!

Sincerely yours,

Brooklyn