The warm breeze gracing my shoulders through the dark window reminds me of Summer nights, waiting in anticipation and counting back hours. When things changed and I began to look at my clock an hour ahead I thought maybe there was something symbolic in looking toward the future, but as impossible as it may seem, hope stops. The buzz of electricity in this room, and the humming from the first few backyard inhabitants of the season outside sends me back year after year, each generally the same, but with their own quirks. I find it a little strange that I haven’t changed very much because I never really saw myself as constant, but I suppose we never see ourselves all that clearly. I’m in the same place I’ve found myself so many times; Standing on the edge of Summer, waiting for possibility, smiling at this stretch of time that for now, seems like it will last forever. My skin is still pale from months under sweaters and heavy coats, and my limbs are almost luminescent in this dress, but soon enough I’ll be olive with new constellations of freckles across my nose. And with that new skin covering my Summer self I’ll feel what it is to be carefree again. I only hope that this year that feeling of lightness isn’t burdened by such things as want, because you cannot feel freedom while feeling you’re without. Sometimes the things we feel the most tied down to are the ones we’re entirely released from.