Summer nights in the garden.

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The air is balmy, musky, and heavy

with you.

You are the smoke floating into the air from between my fingers, enveloping my hands as I wistfully write about a love for which I desperately yearn. You are the droplets of water protesting the heat on the side of my half-empty glass, creeping down and leaving a print on my page, making the words bleed into one another. Maybe becomes yes. Soon becomes now. Want becomes need;

you becomes I.

You are the haziness of my eyes as the garden lights blur into a streak of colour against the darkness of the wall, shining bright and loud for me; scaring away the shadows that lurk in the night. You are the way my skin radiates onto everything around it, the energy of my body cascading into the air before I’ve had time to deny it. I cannot see where I end and the world begins. I cannot see where I end and you begin.

You are the smell of jasmine and mint lingering in the heat. You are the intoxication making me dazed and dizzied . You are the way the concrete feels on my bare feet.

You are the summer nights I spent alone, carefree. Asking every scrap of paper why,

why you were missing from me.


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