Last summer

escapril IV - trip

It’s last summer and my hand is making waves through the air rushing past the open car window and you drive with the music loud enough for the cows to turn their heads at us and you’re screaming that song and it smells of sunscreen and cigarettes and your lighters are forever empty and our shoes are forever covered in beige gravel dust.

It’s last summer and my hair is long and blonde and knotted by the warm countryside wind and my cheeks are warm and freckled by the hot southern sun and you’re tilting your head back as you laugh so genuinely that the old shop owner sitting between tomatoes and a fan offers you a beer.

It’s last summer and I ask you what song is playing so I can listen to it over and over again until it reaches the top of my on repeat playlist and warms my insides when the road takes us back to our rainy city and my skin goes back to plain white.

It’s last summer and there’s a crowd yet there’s just two of us,

it’s last summer and I don’t even know your lips will touch mine one day,

It’s last summer and we haven’t slept in days and my toes are green from the grass we lay on for hours and my face grows smile lines just for you and this will never end and this will never end and this will never end.

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It’s almost summer now.

What’s that song again?

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