summer, love

The grass tickled her feet as she made her way into the sky.

The blue opened up to her, the warm sunshine rays embracing her as she hummed a small, undefinable tune to herself. There were few clouds in the sky; they passed her by like old memories gone by, and strangely enough, she was reminded of one afternoon many clouds ago that was spent with laundry detergent and gap-toothed love.

She had been eight, she thought.

Those had been the days when the ice-cream man would smile as he handed out the sweet, sticky stuff to the children, even if they’d end up dropping it and asking for another.

She liked vanilla. Always had.

He’d always been more of a chocolate person, and she remembered thinking him as girly because she’d thought that chocolate was for girls.

He had thrown the ice cream in her face and ever since then she had never doubted for another moment that chocolate was a manly flavour.

Of course, she hadn’t told him that. No, she had just thrown her vanilla cone right back at him and managed to get it in his hair.

He had cried.

She’d quickly rushed to his side and combed the ice-cream out of it.

…Only to stuff it down his shirt.

They’d started a war of who-can-get-the-most-ice-cream-on-each-other’s-faces and ended up with a scratch on his face, a bite mark on her arm, and a missing tooth in his mouth.

She hadn’t meant to punch him that hard, honest. It’d just happened. Besides, the tooth was bound to fall out soon anyway.

She remembered their mothers pulling them apart, the ice-cream man chastising them softly, and the thought running through her head as the realisation of what she had done finally sunk in: my vanilla ice-cream is gone.

She had cried then, spilled tears and fallen into the depths of despair, and her mother had scolded her some more before finally giving into her maternal instincts and taken her inside the house.

And the next day, as she watched her favourite white dress going round and round in the washing machine, he had shown up, a scowl on his face and an apology on his tongue.

She had promptly thrown the laundry detergent at him.

There was no war this time; just a slight scuffle before mothers came to the rescue and they talked it out like civilised people.

…Or so their mothers had thought.

Nevertheless, somewhere between the pushing each other into the creek and toads in each other’s beds, they had become inseparable.

They had shared a summer love, and if there was one thing that could bring together two people on opposite ends of the spectrum, it was the love of summer. Of beaches and green fields and cloudless skies and ice-cream that do not end up down each other’s shirts; summer was their haven.

And as time passed them by, as little white dresses turned to black, life inevitably pulled them apart, and they willingly followed. But in summer stayed a once upon a time, long long ago in a faraway land they’d called their childhood, and when adults are broken down, when adults are torn apart, it is this heart and sanctuary that they retreat to, because it is this heart and sanctuary that they all have left in the end.

She was waiting for him now.

There were birds above; sky dancers taking centre stage as they glided in and out of the shadows of the clouds up in the sky. If she listened closely enough she would hear their calls; ecstatic cries of the free as they waited for summer to come.

She gripped her straw hat with one hand, and the hem of her pure white sundress danced around her knees skilfully, following the lead of an umpteenth breeze. The world smelt of fresh-aired freedom, and she closed her eyes and heard the trickle of a nearby stream running to forever.

Suddenly, there was laughter. It sounded like the ice-cream man’s van and slid through her fingers like white laundry detergent. There was a pause, then inevitably, she saw the chocolate-flavoured smile of summer approaching.

She chuckled.

Oh yes, summer was coming.

Author's Note: It's summer at the moment. ;) On my side of the world anyway. So tell me what you think. This started out as French homework then transformed into a little drabblesque piece thingy after I gave up on my abysmal French writing skills. XD Feedback would be greatly appreciated.

To the readers of Letters to Lover: Aaaaccckkk. I'm sorry. I've got chapter three written but I'm stuck on chapter four. I'll post it after I've unstuck. See, the thing is, I know where I want to go with the story (I've written out all the important bits), but I'm having trouble with the other bits. I know, right? Who gets stuck on filler chapters? X.X If anybody has any advice on how to write filler chapters (I need them for character development), please let me know. Your help would mean so much.

Anyway. Yeah. Thanks for reading. Drop a word, hey? ;)