i miss when summer was how it should be

I'm a character, all big eyed and flush, wearing mud as blush, with ants skating across my pale knees. I end up in the middle of afternoons too tired to do what I'm supposed to except drink homemade margaritas in a coffee mug and write raucously. My room is a graveyard of dirty clothes and broken instruments, and sometimes i wake up to find the chitinous shells of insects flaked throughout my bed. No break from the forest, it follows me home.

By the end of the night I want to magically have a tan, understand everything there is to know about the western mesophytic forest region, write a billion songs, have a room that looks like a room again, go to bed early, wake up early, take a shower!

summer you are only 9 days away. don't you fucking let me down.