It Is Still Summer

It is still summer. Not fall. 

Call me stubborn, but I refuse to forget. I choose to remember. 

I remember riding the train, speeding past hills that glowed yellow from the sun. 

I remember my brother, a brown speck against cool sands, watching the brave souls who jumped into the icy depths and decided not to drown. 

I remember running back to the beginning, reminding the playground of my love, of my palms that dig in, my limbs that tangle with the structures, a body loose and languid, my laugh that tangos with the breeze. 

I remember seeing spirits. That town is full of them. Sometimes, I conjured them, but other times they followed me. Showed up in restaurants and ate chips and smiled like it was all perfectly normal. 

I remember lights flashing, music echoing, the night sparkling like a mirrorball. We were one entity. One wave of sound. One massive, magnanimous movement. Red blood cells and arteries bleeding out, yet somehow alive. 

I remember thinking that maybe home isn’t where you are but where you choose to be. 

Anyway, 

it is still summer. 

Not fall. 

Call me stubborn, but I refuse to forget. 

I choose to remember.