Summer drones on in the background

It’s summer again.

Last summer I looked in the mirror and there were very many red spots on my face. Last summer I wanted to drive and I don’t know why but I didn’t bother starting (I still can’t drive). Last summer, I wanted to go to Starbucks and buy myself drinks and meet friends and sit under the sun and cry and laugh all at the same time.

Last summer, I knew nothing. This summer, I still know nothing.

All I knew: green leaves and their greener undersides; sun streaming through the window like a light show; highway dust and a call from the future; flies, lots of them. Last summer was very messy and this summer is no different.

We all pretend it's okay.

Still somehow, life felt new, like flipping a golden pancake and seeing its burnt belly underneath, like discovering the darker shadow of a lightbulb. It felt good to sit outside for hours and write about nothing of substance (Aglio e olio pasta; Cicadas; Ravel), comforting to feel sad under a blushing sunset, knowing I’d never experience it with anyone ever again. There was routine and there was noise and still somehow it was immensely quiet; we adjusted. I learned, I grew.

It's the first day of June. I do not know where to begin. I dreamt about a boy for the fourth time; I had two dreams this afternoon and he appeared in both of them. I do not know how I can dream of someone I have never met. The sky was on fire and he was on fire, too.

Everything that burns has a beginning: fiercely beautiful. Everything ash is in heaven, ending only to begin. Perhaps we are ending, perhaps this is the resolve: burning towards a destination.

"I said my arms are very long and your head's on fire. I said kiss me here and here and here and you did."

Today I'm sitting on my patio and quoting Siken, drinking another green Naked smoothie. Last summer, I would not have had the confidence to wear a tank top. This summer, I'm wearing a tank top. I cannot tell if I'm confident enough to or if I'm tired of listening to others (to me) telling me what to wear. Either way, I'm grateful; it's much too warm in California to be wearing anything sleeved.

Days like this I just want to be out of the house. It's beautiful outside. That's valuable; can't let the sun lose me to my living room. I've just now realized how many periods I'm using in this entry, periods being a valuable currency. But I’m not rich. I’m only making ends for myself. Too much punctuation, too much certainty. We never know what's real; what's happening?

I miss him, and I don’t know how. It makes me feel stupid.

I'm learning to love. I'm learning to befriend those I do not love and love them too. I think of S—, who's perfect but too perfect to let into my life. Well.

I'm learning to be okay with what I write and the feelings I feel.

I wanted to tell you this: who are you? How will you be in the future?

And, hey, I love you.