pound sign

Sleeping patterns are skewed, but my heart still clings to the night, where it’s okay to sit for hours in Kerry’s gazebo, feeling my hair conform to the humid and laughing about the way our trending topics (#indiekidsjackson) matter so little in the great scheme of the twitterverse. And there are drawings too, of each of us, and the plans we make. Questions at midnight to answer in crayon. What terrifies you most on this lovely day? It isn’t DMB or the second coming of Elliott Smith or another semester at college, but the slow realization that I may or may not be experiencing the last of the holy summers, where the sweltering months have a  spirit and time of their own.

Just waiting on letters, now.