It happened so quickly. One minute I didn’t know you and the next you were on top of me on Sara’s back porch. Sometimes I feel like I never got over it, because I didn’t give myself time. Because I convinced myself it wasn’t real like I remembered. The sluggish summer days moved more and more quickly and we’d be lying in the grass at the winery and and I’d feel sick knowing it had to end. Cool air was coming in, pulling us apart. When the days got shorter, so did our time together. And that’s how it had to be. But all this time has passed and I know it had to be real. I remember when we tore my room apart looking for your iPhone, when your father’s anger shined through. I remember lying to them all and driving to the beach and drinking whiskey from water bottles that we hid in a picnic basket.  And on the way home, sunburnt, we played pool at The Moose. I remember shaking, telling Eric about you through drags of a cigarette during a stifling day, out on the porch. I remember Eric hating your salmon colored shirt. I remember skinny dipping in Shawn’s pool in front of those construction workers in midday. Sometimes my heart still swells for that time, fumbling around. Not being able to control where we were going, and not wanting to, because we liked how it felt. And when I drive by your parents house, I still get that feeling, I still look for your bedroom light. When August feels like autumn, I remember.


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