To My Meg. Every single summer with you will be different from the last. But they will all be filled with love and sunshine. That much I promise.
Grey carpets buried his fingernails. Her chocolate hair swept up in twists and curls. A solar flare flashed through them. It dipped and came out tasting amiss. A sea breeze was there and throughout her hair. It was smitten with pain and tangerines. A beach of sugar danced away, leaving behind the interstate. In that car was nothing but one, single heart. It beat and thumped. Over and over, as if alone. The sky was all icy and frozen and blue. An ocean above threatened to crush them in seas that swam out of view. Her walnut skin beckoned to him. As he licked salt from the sea breeze that afternoon, she listened in close and heard a soft tune. It was fluttering, bustling and a warm kind of soft. It teemed with melodies and instantaneous harmonies. And all of it sunk her deeper and more madly in love. Their toes were dusty. The two that were loved traded in asphalt, for sand below and the sun above. The burns didn’t matter. The exhaustion didn’t either. It was just them and the youthful owls and a summer without end. It was just them, though the sea breeze joined in their mirth from time to time. It was just them. Them and their love. A love that will always be mine.
