Beneath the Weight of Summer

Summer does not ask permission

to linger or to leave.

It comes like memory—

warm, blinding,

aching with things unsaid.

The days are heavy with light,

but shadows still find their way

into the corners of quiet rooms

and behind our slow smiles.

Cicadas scream like a warning—

that nothing gold stays long.

That joy, even in its brightest form,

burns quickly,

then becomes a bruise.

We gather moments

like seashells cracked by tide,

beautiful in their ruin,

too fragile to last

but too meaningful to forget.

Summer is not just heat—

it’s the weight of what we’ve lost,

the echo of a laugh that’s moved on,

the silence left

when the fireflies fade.

And yet,

we step into its light again and again,

hoping this time,

it might stay a little longer.