Written by Lost in a Dream/xnicc

Harvest is past, summer is ended, And we are not saved.
Jerimiah 8:20

I stare longingly at the photo in the frame.
I remember the smells that coloured the scene
Salt, coconut, cigarettes–
The fragrance of summer, our summer.
Sun-kissed. Golden. Happy.
You, me and the horizon.
Encapsulated. Contained. Perfect.

Grey clouds circle outside.
I’ve been in the house for days.

I try to daydream myself into the security of the photo frame.
Recalling a flimsy sensation
I wait for a memory to embrace me.

Sedate me.

Searing pain, vivid red brings me back.
The frame shatters in my grip;
The hazy fantasy evaporates and my eyes focus on my crimson hands.
This is now and I am in control.

I’m a fool.
Desperately clinging to something won’t bring it back.
This photo is irrelevant now. Summer is over. We are over.
I pick the shards from my hands and chuck them away.
I stuff the photo under my bed hoping, like a scar, it will fade with time.

I brave outside.