The sky’s summerblue with simmering dust. All the days are melding together, a cerulean age of phone calls and memories, of sunshine and scraped knees and you’re-not-here.
Hair’s rolled up in itself for the day, tattered watch around my wrist, I’m walking through the eternal sunlight, thinking only of-
you and I getting soaked in the rain, my head weighed by watery locks hanging loose, asking you again and again for the time.
Every day is just another sunlit obstacle until our two days of rain.
It’s going to be one hell of a storm.
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