fleeting memories of summer’s hazy heat, laying on the floor in front of the fan beside you. my hand in yours, we both stare at the ceiling and make pictures with the cracks. your laughter is like distant thunder. you’re on your side now, slowly tracing your finger up my arm, counting each freckle. that faint smell of fresh cut grass and sweet morning dew floats in through the window and dances along my pink sunburned nose. you sigh. i sigh. i could have died in this moment.