hot child, summerinthecity

It was mid-August and the sun was just starting to descend upon the tip tops of the scorching hot buildings. The light was heavy and unforgiving. The park was radiating the shaking sounds of cicadas , and in the background a young foreigner was carving relentlessly into a violin. There are certain things, certain sounds that become attached to you, they yank you around and revive your memory in strange ways that no one could ever even begin to understand. I sat down on a bench near the shade in case I wanted to move away from the direct sunlight. The air was dense and the ground was wet from a temperamental summer thunderstorm. They never last for more than twenty minutes, and they always make me want to cry. The shape of the clouds, the sun stabbing through, the magenta and tangerine sky all tangled up and twisted. I always feel like I'm in a glass room, all these colors reflecting off of one another. I could sit for hours just staring up, it has always been calming and soothing for me. I watch girls walk by with their gauzy, sheer skirts ripping through the wind, the straps of their high heels tearing into their skin. I feel bad for guys sometimes, constantly tortured by such unknown, other-worldly creatures. Everyone's skin had a slight dew and a golden glow, one of the many reasons I fall in and out of love with the eastern summertime. For a moment, we are all just a little bit more alive..