My Favourite Season Summer →

But lying in bed that night, the window open, listening to the drip-drip-drip from the gutters, I didn’t think about the end. I just pulled the cool, damp sheet over my legs, felt the tired, happy ache in my bones, and smiled.

Dusk arrived like a bruise—purple and gold and tender. The air cooled just enough to remind you that the world wasn't actually on fire. We ate dinner on the back porch, corn on the cob dripping with butter, watermelon that stained our chins pink. The conversation was slow, interrupted by long stares at the horizon. my favourite season summer

The air conditioner was a lie.

And then, the fireflies.

This is the hour summer feels like a held breath. The day is done, but the night hasn’t started. It’s a pause. But lying in bed that night, the window