July is here and suddenly I am a kid again.
I collect rocks. I dance in the rain. When the sun comes out I look for rainbows, in the sky and on your skin. I count your freckles, and then I count mine, and together we are like infinity. I sit in forest pools and splash in the water and walk on the mossy ground between dampened trees.
I jump off high rocks into freezing water. I am scared of heights because suddenly it seems I have much to lose if I fall. The water shocks me and makes me believe I am alive again.
I call my mom when I need help and I cry when I am lost. I still beat myself up over small things because tomorrow I will forget again. There is no time like now for forgetting.
But even more I try to remember those things which I cannot forget. I am regretful of what I let go, years ago: old friends, a father, an item of clothing that I would have never worn, but which I want now, need now, for comfort, for posterity, for whatever future I must soon face. I suddenly see the merit in hoarding, in keeping everything I have ever owned near me, so that these items can tell me who I was, who I am, who I will be. I think that I cannot lose parts of myself if I hold these items close by.
July makes me sentimental and nostalgic. The nostalgia of the current moment forms as I leave the shower and settle down to sleep. I dream of you and I dream of people I had forgotten. I try not to look in the mirror anymore.
In July I forgive too easily, except I do not forgive myself. I am skeptical of happiness but I cherish it all the same. I am still unused to summer rain, to quiet, to unearned joy. I am still taken by surprise when you say you love me.
There is nothing like summer joy, like summer Saturdays, like summer after-work swims when the world truly does seem endless and hopeful. There is so much to explore, to see, to enjoy. There is so much to love, and very little to lose. It is the middle of the year and the months stretch out on each side, endless, because right now there is just this. July.
this is going nowhere 