To All the Questions Left Unanswered

Summer

To experience summer, it is to also experience the world at its full and greatest potential, to view how finesse the peak of it truly is, in this warmed beauty. To detest such a seasonal wonder presented forth, it is truly to dislike the idea of something being bettered and flourished by an eternal type of love. It is to have hated its own previous understanding and gathering of life, that of which was Spring. It is to have bitten your already blooded cheek, and to feel these punishable words claw at your insides.

It is certainly unpleasant, especially against the heat of which you believe can only be cursed down unto you by an anger of which only Apollo could express unto the earth. And yet, perhaps such a belief is a paradox on its own, being stemmed from such a damaging ideology. Perhaps, Apollo is angry at how those who claimed to be fond of the sun, find themselves disgruntled by what it produces every day. It is as if one was found fond of the art, but never really the muse. Or, to credit on a piece of the conclusion, but to only applaud half of a performance, dissatisfied with the other. It is the seed of this unfortunate tree of hypocrisy that could never really let the roots be torn from the fertile soils, which is that of why the heat only creates more tension throughout the season— Apollo far too angry to accept the begging and apology of any man who once complained.

Well, at least as only the sky has ever believed, unless Patroclus was near, saying that even the haunted Achilles acted that way— angered and ruthless in his lack of answering to necessary prayer, that he grew from it rightfully so. Apollo likely did not forgive mortals most often, as I had firmly believed so, not unless Artemis were to take the extra step and place the moon a-front of the sun, narrowing her eyes upon him and instructing him that he were to immediately become much kinder to those of the world. Of course, that was usually when Autumn would string in and arrive, when Apollo held up his hands in a brotherly defeat, giving Persephone her calling to go beneath the surface of the agricultural and industrial run grounds, and see her awaiting beloved.

Summer is that of a deepening love, that of learning lessons and that of giving answers. Summer is that of facing experiences, that of sighing by daydreaming and that of laughing in the face of adventures. Summer is to find something and allow your life to revolve around it, whether that thing be good or it be bad, whether your soul sprouts or it sinks and spirals. Summer is not always a desirable type of seasonal experience, but it is still an experience, and those are to be faced— no matter the situation of which a life is being drowned within.

To experience Summer, it is to find the world enlightened by the truest versions of people, as the children sit alone for months time and the people of which have been forced to grow and mature by society try their best to be children once more, to find who they once were by breaking their own habits and creating up hobbies of which they might be judged for, as even though society begs for difference, it picks at those who have it.

To experience summer, at least for I, it was to feel as Patroclus did. Recognizing whom of which I loved by touch alone, wondering if at our death— forbid if we were to have ever found it by any other method that not be a swelling heart— that our bones would be buried together, that our ashes would be stirred and sheltered by the winds across the rivers and skies of which we could have once been stardust within.

For I to have experienced summer, it was to experience the birth of an Angelonia flower within my soul. It was to feel the simmering of my own devotion and passion unto who you were, and how I wished for myself to be, because of it. It was to allow my ribs to crack, to pierce and be consumed by vinery, and feel this blessing upon myself when you tended to those vines, trimming them and making the garden of my heart express a beauty that even the Gods had to halt and admire, even if it was for a mere moment. Though, we could always hear it so, when that moment was taken— the brightness of the sun would dim slightly by drifting and puffed out clouds, noticing that the flowers would point to their reflections of the waters, how animals would calm— as if predator and prey were not classes of distinction. All for that mere moment, where you spoke to me out of the silence in the air, the world knew no harm.