Dear summer, I’m writing to you in hopes to convey my eternal gratitude and affection for our time together. When you think of all the popsicles shared, dew-soaked, grass-stained socks discarded, and playlists made, how can we possibly part ways? Remember when we discovered the East Side River park path and almost joined an old man baseball league? Or the time we survived your heat during the twelve-hour Pride parade? How about when my boat got pulled over on the Hudson by kayak patrol?
When you’re gone I’ll have to pack up my sundresses, halters, and open-toed favorites. My shoulders will no longer be free and my nose won’t be donned with freckles. Even though I always lose my sunglasses and my favorite wicker bag has that big hole in it, won’t you stay a little longer?
I know our affair is reaching a book end as I’ve returned home and our curtain call has arrived in the form of cream puffs and elephant ears. Thank you for an extra breeze on the fire escape, an early sunrise to guide us back from Bowery, and Summer Friday happy hours.
If we must go our separate ways, please know how happy you’ve made me and how stinky my shoes have become. This last one’s for you my fleeting friend.
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