my name is summer - like the bright heat and leisure days. i am personally made of red dye and blue streaks, soft strokes of black ink across parchment, scarlet paper under your fingers and twinkling of lantern lights. my name is summer - like the cramp of fingers after too much, the flow of words printed on a glossy page, a clarification of imagination and the compression of happiness, sadness, rolled into one. my name is summer - like the reason i breathe, the justification of sweetness underneath my palms. writing is my passion. asking why is like asking why i live. like the desperate strive to rewrite all my misgivings, the need to archive the moments erased from memory.
my name is summer - i'll sing all your songs and make the sky blue.
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