Just One Last Summer

I went looking for a quiet place to disappear. Instead, I found him.

My summer plans were simple: sketch the world, heal my heart, and leave without a trace. But you can't outline a boy like him. He's the song on the radio you can't stop humming; the late-night secret you weren't supposed to keep.

Now, my sketches are full of him, and my heart is caught somewhere between the light of a July afternoon and the sting of an August goodbye. They say some things are only meant to be temporary. But what if "temporary" is the only thing I'm not ready to let go?