Summertime

I miss you with a fierceness that cannot be explained. I miss having conversations for a whole day. I miss getting a couple hours of sleep between 1-3 a.m., seeing his text message(s) and texting him to see if he was still up, and then going back to sleep stubbornly. I miss waking up for work at 6:45 a.m. and having all the energy in the world. I miss older women asking me for fashion advice in the skinny jeans section of the store. I miss smiling all the time and having people ask about me because of it. I miss chillin’ on my roof for hours, eyes low, the sun burning my skin, and sweat forming at the crease where my arm meets my forearm. I miss the sun illuminating my legs for the first time; finding beauty marks I never knew existed. I miss meeting new people. I miss lunches at P. F. Chang’s with my homegirl. I miss having conversations with her where I would trade breasts with her in return for some “Ms Fat Booty” ass. I miss going for jogs in the historic neighborhood. I miss feeling the beat of music pulsating through my temples. I miss being in Jamaica and talking to all the people I grew up with. I miss the trees, air, food, attitude, beaches, weed tea, beauty, and most of all, my family.

Dear Summer, you were so good to me. I feel like I haven’t properly addressed you yet. I miss you because it was the first time my mental age was reflected through my physical self. I learned that it was okay to get into some shenanigans. It was the first time I truly lived. I pushed buttons, and almost crossed the line, but I won’t take any of it back because that’s when I was happiest. And now, it’s cold. December winds and rain don’t conjure up the same sentiments I had for you, Summer. And I’m left asking myself: Am I the only one who feels this way? Your ultraviolet rays did something to me.

Dear Summer, I miss you, you’re coming back, right?