[Writing Prompt] The Smell of Summer

Summer smelled of freedom – whatever extent of freedom it was that allowed for late-nights trying hard to stargaze in the city of blaring lights and busy streets.

Summer was meant for looking for angel feathers, with nothing but a map of curiosity and eagerness.

Summer had the scent of evasiveness, a hint of fear over the inevitable – that it was going to end nonetheless. I inhaled anxiety, and breathed out whispers of false reassurance; false hope at best.

Summer…what else could I say? I couldn’t erase the scent stamped in my head, that scent of forever – defined vaguely, forced into a measurement. But it ended, and I stopped breathing it in. I felt like choking up the words, the ones nobody liked to hear: “Summer’s gone.” And it wouldn’t come back, no. The next year would be different, it wouldn’t be summer.



    1. The awful cycle of enjoying summer and agonizing its exit each year is painful, but always a great experience nonetheless. I appreciate it very much, thank you!

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