Summers always start as golden shadows. Βut in the end they get black and they smell badly. Like burning tires on the road.
Summers are counterproductive. And lazy. Don’t fool yourself, they are meant to be this way. The best they can do is to postpone things for later. This is why you loved them when you were a child. But you are not a child anymore.
Summers are for young girls who grow up and they desperately need to get rid of the previous 17 oppressing winters. They are wild. They are free. Boys don’t belong to such a beauty. Time will remain an opponent for them for many more years.
Summers are always vast seas and shiny islands.
Summers are stories which drag you back in time. Most of them are not real; they only contain nuggets of truth. Who cares? They are immortal.
Summers without friends are anything but summers.
Always the summers are slipping away. Find me a way for making it stay.*