Summers are scary

Summers are scary.

May says goodbye and so green pastures and candid smiles on everyone’s faces are born. And just when May says goodbye, I wonder what June will be like. I become nervous at the single idea of July. When I think of August, my heart runs. Runs fast like a hungry, wild dog who has just seen its pray. With desire, with fear to lose. Once again. 

Summers are scary.

Scary was the moment I saw you for the first time.

The first time in your town.

The town of the wealthy poor.

Poor our hearts were.

Were we meant for each other?

Other times could’ve been better for us, maybe.

Maybe not. 




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