So there they are; the lesions of a golden summer so healed they’ve coalesced into a brand new heart, born into a world filled with memories of jumping giddily through neighbors’ sprinkler systems in the black, uninhabited night.
That’s the summer we remember; freely repressing the depressing moments of disappointment brought about by broken plans and uninhibited dreaming. But it had to end, summer had to end, giving way to Fall’s insecurities and traumatizing exam experiences, along with teachers whose names we’ve learned to attribute to horror stories and the “wooshing” of dropping grade point averages.
That was our world. Summer was our escape. “If only our escape was longer,” we mused.
But there it was, the glory of summer escaping us before it even begins. The world only spinning faster still on its cruel axis, robbing us of the hopelessness of warm weather fantasies.
This is their world now. We’ve got but months to enjoy our lives in a false reality— a sheltered, confusing alternate to anything we’ve ever known.
So why bother? Why bother changing our perspectives on the hard-hitting world when we’ll be seduced by its sparkling opportunities in less time than we dare to think?
Why should we ever desire to desperately enjoy, only to feverishly miss?
Because we love it. Because we want to live precarious lives in a world encapsulated by summer’s invincible boundary, only broken by time and evermore orange landscapes. We want to live in a world where the motto “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” applies.
So I have one suggestion: Live it up.
Kick off your shoes, worn out by constantly climbing stairs and ladders leading to better places. Find a summer love, and grieve when it’s over.
Grieve because it was beautiful, because it was your preferred reality for a three-month eternity… Because it reminds you of sunshine and late-nights and Icee-related weight gain.
Tell your stories, keep the memories, and forget its expiration date.
For some, it’s their last summer in this hopeless reality.