I remember the days when we drove around in circles, getting ourselves lost and spending afternoons reorienting ourselves around the Strip. When we would tune the radio in between AM radio stations, and accompany the static with our own voices and songs. And that one day where I took the sharp turns in the canyon and we kept on falling into each other. When the idea of college was ages away and we started our homework at midnight.
And I gave you that doll, the one I said looked just like you. And you said, "Put it on your dashboard so you will always be with me." And you named her and held her that night as you fell asleep in the passenger seat. And I sung that Smiths song that goes, "I'm tired and I want to go to bed." And when I pulled into the driveway and you started to wake up, you sung along. "There is another world, there is a better world."
And I walked you to your door, looked at you and said, "Honestly, there could be no better world right now." And stars swirled about and the moon glowed like the sun and if I believed in god, that was it.
And I remember the week where the sun never came out and I spent all the spare change I had on coffee and tea and those scarves from that little thrift shop. And I accidentally baked some cookies for too long and brought them to you and apologized and you said, "Well, then we'll just have to dip them in milk to make them better."
March was rain and hot chocolate and e.e. cummings poems and April was flowers and frozen yogurt.
And then May faded into June and you left for camp and the doll on my dashboard wouldn't suffice. And your phone was always off and I could never leave my house in that dry heat and there was nowhere to go.
I've always hated summer, but come back for Fall?