a letter to my friend

Dear Cassie,

I think that, after today, summer is here. We've had a few hot days out here, sure. But summer is not just about heat. The leaves are out now, but summer is not just about color. The short shorts and sunglasses are also out -in force I might add- but summer isn't about fashion either (you may disagree with me on that). No. I feel like summer comes when you feel a certain resignation; a resignation to socialize, share your spirit and pay homage to the sun watching over us. A resignation to be in motion from now until october, like pinballs spinning and coursing as long as we can handle it. Of course this could just be me. My spirit is in a state of confusion of late, and to share that with the outside world seems … wrong I guess? I feel eyes looking up to me and I have nothing to offer. I feel eyes looking away from me and I want to scream at them. But the false signs of summer imbue hope -the heat, blazing greens and blues, bikinis and tan lines- hope that this isn't quite resignation I feel, but a simple tenderness resulting from missing a recently sloughed-off skin.