summer evening syndrome.

I hate this.

the summer breeze carresses your pale, frigid skin with the touch of a concerned lover.

the air supercharges your lungs- imagine a shriveling balloon, then imagine that balloon slowly being filled up with air.

sunlight streams into dark nooks and crannies, bleaching walls and desert.

somewhere nearby, you can smell barbeque, waltzing with flowering bushes and blue gramma and the almost-scent of rain on the horizon.

and you can hear ostentatious laughter over the hills that seperate your neighborhood from the others, and you can imagine the sound of bodies crashing into pool water, and you can feel regret at the fact that your own pool is probably teeming with murky leaves and dead crickets, and even if it was clear and crystalline, you wouldn't have anyone to admire the setting sun with...

and you think about last year, sitting around that firepit with your friends, torching marshmallows and watching city lights.

and then you wish you had some friends with you now.
or maybe that he would call, and you could make your own bittersweet summer memories,

and you wonder if he's cannon-balling into his own pool right now, and if his parents are as pretentious as your neighbors, and if he likes mustard on his barbequed hot dog, and then you wonder if he likes hot dogs at all, which he probably doesn't.

but guess what?
you're stuck at home right now, all alone.