I looked in the mirror and thought, "these burns will fade," and it was a comforting thought for a moment. Appealing to my vanity; that my face won't always bear the red shade of too much sun, and I won't always be in pain.
But that's the funny thing about me. "These burns will fade," is a comfort to me when I view them in a mirror, but "these burns will fade," is a tragedy when you're someone who treats sunburns as souvenirs. These burns will fade, and this day will pass, and tomorrow will come, and you won't talk to them anymore, and you might start to hate them, and soon enough you won't even miss them.
The day you spent walking across town, getting stopped by the train on both sides of the tracks, sitting in a pizza place, and making empty promises is going to fade. The day you spent sitting in the field in your swim top and short shorts, watching others play games, and counting the minutes until lunch is going to fade. The day you spent playing with your little brothers, climbing trees, and jumping across the river is going to fade.
And my face bears the marks of too much sun on my too pale skin, but they'll fade, if I'm lucky, and maybe I'll burn a little less easily next time. Maybe I'll remember my sunscreen.
These burns will fade, and it's a freaking tragedy that my nostalgia kicks in when I think too hard about a day in the sun. I miss my burnt skin more than I miss my high school friends, and I'm sorry.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
These burns will fade, but some things are already gone.
