it's june
In June I feel like a kid again. The sun rests on my arm while I’m driving with the window down, but it’s June and I haven’t felt the sun in so many months, so I leave it there until the gentle warmth turns to an uncomfortable heat. I don’t move my arm even though I know I’ll get sunburnt. These days they all say to hide from the sun and I say God forbid my sun kissed cheeks welcome a few new spots and wrinkles by the end of August. The signs of a summer enjoyed; a summer lived. The signs that remind me, even though I’m aging and my summers look entirely different than they did twenty years ago, I am still a kid underneath these long work days, family disputes, break ups and make ups, bills and responsibilities. I’m still a kid who yearns for sticky hands from holding a soft serve ice cream for too long, for blistered soles from spending too much time running through the neighbourhood streets, for a summer that leaves me more exhausted than rested because it was a summer enjoyed, and a summer lived. So don’t blame me if by June I’m a little more curious, a little more playful, a little more reckless. It’s June and I feel like a kid again; I feel like myself again.















