Summer Skin.

I can taste it, the seething heat of a summer afternoon.
It wraps me up like a blanket, its warmth kissing my skin like a long lost lover.
I’m pulled into a dreamy haze, every step taking more effort than the last, wading through a swamp of invisible mud up to my ankles in expectations and the list of accomplishments I’m yet to tick off.

Maybe they can wait.

Maybe the whole world can wait.

I lie beneath the blanket, gather it around me like it is not a summer day, but the most bitter night of winter. I take a breath. I dare not open my eyes lest the illusion be shattered. For now the world belongs to me, and if I ask it to wait, then it shall wait.


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