You don't want to read this

I don’t know what it is about summer that reminds me of you, or maybe the right way to say it is, I don’t know what it is about you that reminds me of summer…

Maybe its just that my heart isn’t in it for the other 3 seasons. There is only so much time I can spend constantly flooding myself with memories and thoughts and pain. I can’t do it all year, but one season, I can do that. I can withstand it all for 3 months, especially if its nice out. I can keep myself busy and then spend the quiet time laying flat on my back in bed with my earphones in and feeling the breeze on my sunburned freckles.

Or maybe it’s that I’m always trying to save myself from disasters. I see them coming and I run and hide for as long as possible until I know my legs won’t carry me any further, and I just give in. I think that’s what it is. It gets far too hot in Indiana to keep running away, so I sit in the shade, such an obvious hiding place and the memories always find me. They wear Nikes and stretch for long hours before they take off, and they always catch up to me. So I sit on my lawn chair, sipping my Long Island Iced Tea which makes the memories bearable, and I just take it. I just hold on to all the pain, and I make it a part of me for that short summer. And in the summer I am active, I’m more active than I am in any other part of the year. And I think that’s why its so hard to hide my feelings from myself, because they are always coming in like out-of-towners, always needing a place to stay or a bite to eat, and I’m the only one who knows the area well enough to entertain.

No matter the reasons that I do it, I always do it. I am always falling in your trap like the strongest flypaper known to man. When we’re lying next to one another, not listening, not talking, not caring about anything but us. And that’s the way it should be. I know I want to feel things, and I want to feel them with your arms wrapped around me, with your finger tips tracing them as though they were my own. Hands, arms, fingers, the pronouns become irrelevant. We become one thing, one entity, and nothing should pull us away, but it always does, it always pushes and pulls and tugs on things that should be safe and ours. And then the weather starts to get cooler, and the soccer teams start dressing for games instead of just practices, and it becomes time for me to go away again. And I forget for another 9 months that the feelings I just felt are what I actually want, and not just some summer flu that has come over me.

I forget what I want because its easier that way.