WHAT SUMMER WAS by Chiara Sullivan

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When her lips met theirs it was starbursts and supernovas.

When she traced the freckles across their nose she marvelled at the way summer had pressed its shadow in their skin.

When ‘their’ song came on in the car and she sang the verses and they sang the chorus it was secret smiles passed across the centre console.

When the rain hit hard on the old tin roof and the two of them couldn’t talk for the watery gunshots above their heads she decided to talk with her mouth on their skin instead.

When the two of them walked along the beach she looked back at the way two sets of footprints trailed behind in the sand and thought This is how I always want it to be.

When they cooked her favourite dinner and lit candles in the middle of the table and said I love you she said Not half as much as I love you.

When summer ended

And the sun faded

And they kissed her

She somehow knew that everything was going to change.

When they said This summer was perfect like a goodbye

And they kissed her cheek like it was the last time she knew

Somehow

That everything was ending.

When she opened her mouth to ask them Will I see you next summer? they raised one finger and placed it against her lips.

When they said Sometimes life gives us something perfect and we have to take it and run she wanted to say Run away with me, then.

But she didn’t.

When they walked away she thought that she had lost something

But maybe she’d gained something, too.

And maybe that was what Summer was.


Chiara Sullivan is a voracious reader who spends far too much time wandering the well worn paths of her imagination. She wants to share her words with the world because it was the world that gave them to her. At any given time you can find her blogging here or here, tweeting, and instagramming.

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