august, too.

i’m dreaming about june. and july. august, too.

i can feel the banana boat oil on my skin and it leaves fingerprints on my screen as i respond to messages from you.

who are you? i don’t know yet. but you’ll come along and pique my interest.

the sun will thaw all the winter woes and they will manifest as beads of sweat rolling down my body.

i’ll self-baptize in the chlorine and reemerge a clean canvas; freshly innocent and ready for new dealings of sin.

the sun stays out forever and the songs i used to skip in november are on repeat.

iced coffees until i’m ready for champagne, bikinis until i’m ready for skirts.

just me and my summer days ahead of me.

i’m dreaming about june. and july. august, too.

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say it to my face, dude. (enter your comment below, i love all forms of feedback)

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