Before you read these moments from my life, I’d like to apologize for the language, but I’m trying to recall it from the exact detail.
During the months of June, July, and August, I spent many hot summers of my childhood at my Grandmother’s house further west on the island of Cape Breton. The forest was plentiful, the plains were a vibrant green, and my Grandmother’s house was a rickety old two-story that was built sometime in the 50’s and looked like it didn’t belong.
summer is an open window, sweet breeze carrying children’s laughter. it’s laying in your lover’s arms in your lover’s bed, curtains dance, soft hands tracing soft skin. summer is patches of sunlight warming sleepy green grass, warming brown eyes. it’s hand fed cherries, fruit stained lips, midnight conversations, tired kisses, moonlight on the ocean reflecting the love around you