Dear Summer 16,
I dreamed of you.
I knew you’d be a warm one. I prepared myself for the sandal tan lines and sweat-based-brunches I’d have under your clouds. I’d been specific about the things I wanted to achieve as a freelance artist and a collaborative leader. I was sure that I’d been positioned to reach the heights I’d outlined in my journal. I knew how much love would fill your days, readying me for fall bliss. You were more for me than Drake.
Summer 16, I was ready for you but you broke my heart.
You gave and you took - seemingly and even exchange, however harbored in the fine-print about your allowance for joy, was a sacrifice of the things I already loved.
Over your warmest three months, you’ve ripped three men from my life. Three men that gave me reason to smile and believe in the achievements I’d continue to affirm. Summer 16, you took more than you gave.
In late June, I watched my beautiful cousin smile through cancer’s awfulness and give every bit of fight to continue witnessing life through the eyes of his family – only to fall into an eternal dream. One week later – I lost an uncle, a flamboyant character that tested the extremes of charisma all while loving on everyone, literally. More recently I lost the love of my life, thankfully not to death, but to reasons I wasn’t given – he’d fallen out of love with me.
- Loss feels like a skipped birthday, that euphoric feeling of elation, preparing for your celebration, only to realize you’re the only person showing up for a party.
- Breaking up feels like the person you love, died, but only in your world - everyone else on the planet gets to share in continued experience with them.
- Death, feels like the foreword to a gutted novel – the meat of meaning, the exploration of themes, left with missing chapters and ripped pages.
Where is the solace in the absence of things that were prominent fixtures of light?
Summer 16, I feel like I’m losing it. There is a persistent unsettling nauseum burning my throat, bleeding sadness and an emptiness into my heart.
Perhaps you felt as though I wouldn’t miss these men. Maybe it was something I’d done. Maybe it was a series of choices or missed opportunities for my expressed love. I would give every moment of achievement back to start over and have them returned to my life.
Summer 16, you’ve made plans to offer more grief. To take a fourth, another uncle you’ve been eyeing. Should you leave him be, if not for me, but for my father’s happiness I will burn the pages of my journal and start anew. I will walk away from this sadness and call a truce.
Dear Summer 16,
Let’s just be done, I won’t ask or affirm anything else. Your twisted karmic plot of vengeance has rushed in, swept out and left my thoughts in ruins.
Let’s just be done.
When you leave, I won’t miss you.
Just go.