absolute

do you remember the summer you bleached your hair? you said you were blonde in the summer now because we were nineteen and it suited you so well and it felt like july.

everything is so absolute when we’re young.

once is enough to make a habit. every pain is drenching. every joy is overwhelming. every lover gets your full heart.

that summer, that day, is etched into my memory. your frosted pixie cut swaying in the wind as we lay on the grass next to our college town lake. it did suit you, i won't lie. the hum of music from a nearby barbecue. the beads of sweat on the cherry beer bottles next to us. i can still taste the sickly sweetness it left on your lips. the ache in my belly when you interlaced your fingers with mine. the thump of my heart. the thump of your heart. i remember the grass starting to prickle my legs and the wind bursting goosebumps on my arms as the sun went down but neither of us wanted the afternoon to end, so we laid like this until our noses ran.

nineteen felt absolute.

you felt absolute.

and then slowly, slowly but surely, we learned to distinguish which pain would fade and which would stick. which love would be diesel fuel, quickly hot but rapidly consumed, and which love would leave a scorch mark on your heart for years after. we learned how much can change in a summer and we learned to go home before catching a cold.

it’s summer again now and i’m so far from nineteen, but i bleached my own hair this year. and when set it free from its nighttime bun this morning, i watched the blonde curls fall around my face and i remembered the pinkish hue of your lips, and the dark brown of your eyebrows and the white of your spikes and the way that afternoon felt infinite.

are you still blonde in the summer?

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