98.7 on I-495, Rascal Flatts eddies around me. Wet hair, stiff with chlorine, slackening with the ease of an afternoon sans homework. Fake Ray-Bans (but no one can tell), head leaned back, soaking up the sun like I'm an old Sheryl Crow lyric. Bathing suit on, shoes off, worries dissipated and good times accumulated. Laughter ricocheting everywhere like a game of wall ball with youth league buddies. Nails painted ten different colors, temporary tattoos stamping your arms, and your tongue stained a scarlet that only cherry popsicles can furnish.
Dear Summer,
Please hurry!
Love,
Allison
No comments:
Post a Comment