I miss summer. Limbs hanging over rooftops. The perfume you wore everyday- said the scent would mark this season as ours. The sound of clinking bottles- sitting side by side to watch the moon until it became blurry. Roaming yards that weren’t ours. Girlhood coming to a forced stop and we were dreading the countdown. But I don’t live there anymore and now you see everything through a crack lens. Skinned palms. Whiskey fever. Yesterday, I smelled that perfume in a crowd of strangers and felt like choking. Maybe I don’t miss summer. Maybe I don’t even miss you. Maybe I just miss being sixteen. -AMT©️