h a i l

Another summer has risen up and quietly faded; when I think of my experience, my personal ability to say that I've seen twenty-four summers pass, I feel strange. The number seems so small, too small to be able to say that I know how a summer is and what to expect from one. Saying, I've eaten at a restaurant twenty-four times, or that I've read a book just as many times is different; those are numbers that I can willfully expand, infinitely build upon. But summer...whose passing I wait for with bated breath, and who only recently I've grown to tolerate, even appreciate...

You can only collect so many summers before they're gone.