June and July

I.

before you, i hadn’t known pain like this. i felt (i still feel) like i was being torn from the inside out. it was no fault of yours, no fault of mine, perhaps we can blame fate or circumstance, or ethereal forces outside of our control. 

II.

but maybe i don’t want to place blame, but simply exist in these tangible moments, float on the current of memory back to these golden times, times i hoard possessively as if they belong to me alone. 

times where i could hear your voice, simply bask in the warm glow of your laugh and feel so deeply infatuated with this one person, this inexplicable one who makes me rethink everything. 

times where i could touch your hair, pull on the soft curls and feel your humanness under my fingertips, where i could hold your hand in mine, feel the warmth from your body, where i could press my ear to the flat expanse of your chest and hear the beating of your heart echoing inside my head.

i am struck in moments like these. you’ve left your mark.

III.

so when i say that this summer has been different, it carries a deeper meaning. this summer has been more than a collection of days or moments, more than just calendar pages. i know with an uncharacteristic certainty that these months are something else. 

that this is the end of Before and the start of After.

IV.

whenever we feel far apart i look up to the sky. it gives me some comfort to know that the light hits me the same way it does you. i swear you’re made of the same stars i look at when i turn my face to the sky late at night, when we talk in murmured voices in languages the other can’t understand, but in a way, we do. 

you’re a constellation.

‍

V.

and to you yourself — you are

my truest love, 

my best adventure, 

my greatest summer.