Summer nights were catching fireflies, s'mores, bonfires, lemonade. Staying up late, pushing the limits, being young. Night drives, loud pop songs on the radio, wind rushing and heart beating fast. Summer nights were secret kisses and holding hands. Summer nights were midnight swims, pulses quickening with every splash, drawing in closer as the night wore on. Summer nights were love.
But seasons change.
Fall nights were chilly. Coffee sat untouched on the counter, waiting, growing cold. Fall nights were watching a movie from separate ends of the couch. Fall nights were glancing into a distant face, pretending not to see anything, and hastening to talk about summer. Fall nights were driving different cars to the same place. Fall nights were distance.
And then winter came.
Winter nights were dark. Winter nights were ignored texts and harsh words. Winter nights were walking into a room and feeling deflation, and then anger. Winter nights were cold. And distant. And painful. Winter nights were war, hands catching on thorns and blood spilling out onto the white snow. Winter nights were tears which turned to ice. Winter nights were pain.
But seasons change.
And spring nights were apologizing. Rebuilding. Changing.
And summer nights came again.
And the seasons changed, as they must. As they always do.
YOU ARE READING
On An Unrelated Note: Short Stories
Short StoryThis is a compilation of many short stories. Some are a paragraph. Some are three pages. Some are longer. Some are in third person, some are in first. But each chapter is a new character and a new story, and each chapter tells of something to make y...
