I Can Still Taste the Strawberries

April

     My brush shoved it's way through my tangled, oily hair, and I kept on the wrinkled yellow shirt I slept in.

     Our car glided down the highway like scissors through wrapping paper. The windows were rolled down and the music was so loud you could touch it. 

     We put our hands out the window so the wind could tickle our fingers, and the sun could embrace us. The vibrant green of our surroundings was like a painting, and it welcomed summer.

     The second you stepped outside, the sun gave you a hug. The warm air made the day taste like a popsicle.

     My friends are April.