summer (again)

thank you for being you

My friend’s philosophy for the summer is to “worry about the bite later.” I’m feeling supersonic, fiending for another gin and tonic. Summer of fun as if no other summer was ever centered around that. I’m listening to a demo thing you made in 2021 when I was spiraling or waiting for something to happen again. You changed the lyrics from “writing songs about boys who didn’t even break my heart” to “girls who didn’t even break my heart.” I never meant to fall asleep during Blow-Up. I never meant to ditch the club for someone I’d never love. Every night is electric. Until morning returns like fog. Turning the corner for two large coffees and sitting on the stoop like old friends. I guess I’m losing an awareness of time. No one seems old unless I knew them before 2019. Back when the Urban Outfitters on west 14th street still existed and every barista we encountered was in a dream pop band. The days had rhythm even if all we ever did was wait. I never thought I’d miss the constant honking, its absence is louder. Louder than a friend ignoring all my calls. Louder than a letter getting lost in the mail. I watch my Instagram archive like a tv show, every season another version of myself, another entourage of friends, of characters. Some dip in and out. It’s like I returned from war or something like nah I was just sleeping on a mattress on the floor in New York City. And now I feel a lightness I’m afraid won’t last. Can’t a girl just send a reel for fun. “Who gives a fuck about the bite.”