Pensive Moments

Sometimes, your relationship with yourself is the most burdensome.


It was the summer of love. A summer of warm skin and cool breezes. Children flying kites in open patches of grass, and embracing lovers on tiresome subway rides home. Eyes met in fond, knitted affection and fingers locked in determined, obsessive possession.

We all play our parts in the summer of love. Without jealousy, possession is never sweet. Without longing, the release is without relief. Without a copper tear, a golden smile is worthless.

And so I silently do my part, in this summer of love.