That Summer Feeling

by Bridget Morrissey

As a rule, I did not trust blond men. No real reason other than pure skepticism.

My cheeks flushed. Our interactions shot me with adrenaline in a way that was wholly unfamiliar. I felt wild around her. Spontaneous.

“You’re always welcome wherever I am.”

She made me afraid to blink, because to miss even a single second was to miss something revelatory. I would dance with her until the music stopped. Even then, if she wanted to keep going, I’d create music for us.

Sharing a meal with people was one of life’s simplest pleasures. In the right company, breaking bread together, walking through the mundanities in our lives felt revelatory.

“The older you get, the more you realize there’s a damn good reason to be afraid of just about every single thing in life. So you might as well do it all, because the fear sure doesn’t care either way.”

I’d been so flustered when she found me, I hadn’t processed the honor of witnessing her. Now the heat of her sunshine spread through me, moving like a fast-acting drug, waking up every nerve in my body.

Call down the fake birds and take that information straight to the government.

I’d been an incredible fool, and I could be a fool no longer. So I kissed her.

She was someone I kissed because I couldn’t bear the distance. Because talking didn’t suffice. Learning every piece of her became a burning necessity.

In a way, my old habit of romanticizing life was one of the only kindnesses I’d granted myself, because it was the only time I allowed myself to believe I deserved a love full of care.

Get used to me, I thought. Be as desperate for my touch as I am for yours.

I’m so afraid to be right or wrong with all my choices that I don’t end up making any.

The best gift you can give yourself is permission to keep figuring shit out, no matter how messy it is. You can be a different you tomorrow. You can also own the person you are today. You don’t have to hide away because you might one day change.”

What was love if not holding someone else’s hand through their chosen journeys?