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she made gentle to the
wild oceans of my soul
- atticus
✧
to understand the eventual summers they had together, you'd have to know the first.
***
summer was daring. goldie's smiles during this time were the essence of radiance, a candlelit safe space with the bright hue. she can be wonderfully summed up in a few words, but she deserves way more. still, she's the sun, the moon, and the stars. she's bold: fierce and hauntingly beautiful (you won't forget her features, not for a long time). aware of all in the daylight; sun-drenched body under the sky, the cotton candy white clouds above eyeing her like the curious moon.
summer was happiness. when she strums the beautiful strings of her guitar is when her smile was the brightest it could be. she did it so effortlessly, but it would almost be an insult to explain it that way; she had practiced for a decade, and it only got better and better. time and time again she still has moments where she believes she can do better, and she does not stop until it's perfect, even if it's in the dead hour of the night. it's just how she is, and maybe she's a bit of a night owl and also an extreme workaholic. still, she's happy; her brown eyes deliciously resemble a freshly baked beige-filled cheesecake in the way that it's a rich caramel swirl: the craving hunger it holds, the small wink of glitter and the shiny glimmer when she's excited.
her skin in the summer; shiny cheeks and melted drawn butter complexion, slightly burnt skin from her tendency to forget sunscreen. the clothes so incredibly attached to her body flow in the wind, and she had to refrain from swooning when she looks in the mirror after spending twenty minutes sitting there, dabbing her cheeks and carefully planting eyeliner that made her more unmistakably noticeable to others. she knew, because she got the stares; the way women would pass by her and stop their movements to get a quick glance, their wondering eyes prominent before they notice what they're doing, and they dart their eyes away as they clear their throat (noémie was soon to be one of them). the faint, ghostly smile she hid in the palm of her hands and her too obvious and telling expressions: she will forever be an open book whose pages demand to be read.
YOU ARE READING
A Sapphic's Summer (REVISED 2024)
Poetry1 | Perfectly Imperfect I will forever be subjected to your recklessness. You are not perfect, but then again, you are more perfect for me than you'll ever realize. It will never dawn on you like it dawned on me. And that is okay, as long as you l...
