when college ends and my books are well paid

and my mother wonders if she'll see me again

i don't talk to any old high school friends

and the one i love now is holding other hands

i don't mind i just hope their smile never ends

when I forget the way my depression sweater feels

and i no longer need fire to heal

and my hands stay manicured and clean

when i'm all alone, all i support is myself

im not sure if that will always be

and wealth is gained

for spirit

for love

for joy

for rain

my success is looked up to by little girls

envied by my father pitiful words

the ones like chains i one day will break

my dark brown eyes, now mud and stone, now soft

maybe by someone i will forever call my own

maybe a child, whose name i don't yet know

at least a decade before my parents see me come home

not for their love, nor that i miss their hold

not like i can remember, those memories are old

i tell them i'm better than they are or ever will be

and for them to hear and know i'm speaking honestly

my future i can not fully see

the farther i look, the hazier it will be

like rain-stained glass

you can see, but it's still blurry

I wouldn't say I like it here. Even wishing I could escape is a common thought for me. Birds can fly away if they have a problem with their circumstances; why am I not a bird? Why must I tread instead of soar? Like it is as if I have anchors clasping down my feet, every step, I cry in anguish, for I cannot detect the air of hope, nor the light of happiness. Why must the birds be so selfish? I am sure that I would carry those who can't fly upon my back if I could. Is it they are too scared we will weigh them down? That we would dig our fingers too far into their backs? Is it that they know we will rip wings away so we can fly on our own? Do they know that we are takers? We took the earth and said it is ours because we have feet, so we deserve it because we have hands, so we deserve it. But why? We were last; it isn't fair. The birds were here first, and they are selfless to the earth and its children. And am selfish because I want their wings. To be entirely honest, I wouldn't say I like it here.

Laughing in dim warm light.

Tears streaming down my face.

That one song on repeat.

They just left my house.

Right after they kissed me.......

But I'm just a friend.

write.write.write.write. i just realised i was forgetting to press space..........and CAPITALIZE THINGS

I don't really care anymore. I'm listening to the same song on repeat. It sunds like emtyness. Did I spell theat right? i don't care. I don't care. That's right.

I wish I could type faster.

Then maybe I should actually practice.

I'm going to puke.

I think.

The dull yellowish light from the old chrismas lights I put up on my bed frame, is that the word, is nice. I can see most things

no I can't. No I can't. No I can not.

Better than nothing, right?

This was a mistake.

Why am I here.

whyam

Why am I here?

I can't do anything right.

I hate it here.

That feels wrong. Was that wrong?

I don't care.

Why?

'Why?' what?

Why are you always in my room? It's creepy.

To have a roommate?

The fact I don't have one.

How is that scary?

First of all, I said creepy, not scary.

Same difference.

That's not the point-

Then what's the point?

THE POINT IS-

Why are you yelling?

The point is, I don't have a roommate, right?

Right.

Right, so why are you always here?

I don't know.

Okay, so if you are here, then why does no one else ever notice you?

Wow, that's creepy!

I know right?! It's almost like that's what I have been trying to tell you!

Then why didn't you just say that?

Keyword: trying.

Oh, I get it now.

You are so annoying.

I'm sorry. All I want to do is help you.

How?

I know you think too much. You get so stressed, the thoughts push against your head, and it hurts you so much.

...

I just want to help you.

...

I want to take the pain away, I want to calm you down.

You're so sweet.

I thought I was annoying?

Yeah, you are. Annoying, but sweet.

...Yeah.

First, of all, I would like to thank everyone ( @OllieOctopus @TavieMW @_el_ @VanillaVicky @HWilson @Roses311Sublime @CindyCalder @anindividual @Notebook @LiannaC @Inz5000 and @_abby_ ) for their amazing entries! I enjoyed being able to sit down and read all of your takes on a summer romance. This wouldn't be possible without you!

Runner-ups:

3rd place- A little bit different By: @LiannaC

2nd place- Lavender and Merlot By: @CindyCalder

Honorable Mentions:

should she just let it be? By: @OllieOctopus

I'm Used to Lonely Summers By: @VanillaVicky

Lemonade By: @TavieMW

Then finally, the one you have been waiting for, the overall winner:

1st place- if you kiss me, will it be just like i dreamed it? (it was even better than my dreams.) By: @_el_

Thank you everyone for your time and congratulations to our winner!

Summer is the absolute worst time of year, especially in this shithole of a town. Every summer is exactly like the previous: you get over-excited that school is out, make plans with friends that never end up happening, fall into a hole of depression, school starts again, and you start anticipating the next summer to come.

I am currently in the "I am about to fucking kill myself if I don't start getting orders from teachers who have no life, nor right to judge how mine is going" stage, which is right in between the depression and the rentering school stages. If that wasn't bad enough, my birthday lands right around there. The only reason I even remember this is because my mom tells me that I need to make a chocolate cake for my little sisters and pretend that I don't think cake is disgusting.

After I finish the cake, I continue my annual birthday traditions by checking the mailbox for birthday cards. I get the same ones every year, except that family members have slowly stopped giving a lot about writing personal notes due to not knowing anything about me. My Aunt Helen sends a $20 in a cat card of some sort, my Uncle Rodge sends $100+ (I choose to ignore the fact it was likely stolen), My grandmother sends a note stating what my gift from her is along with what my parents said they got me, and an envelope full of fine glitter from my cousin (I don't even open them anymore). I went through all of them with nothing new until I reach the last one.

A sky blue envelope with nothing on it other than my name written in silver calligraphy. It gives me an overwhelming sense of mystery and magic. I rush straight to my room and lock the door. Filled with anticipation I rip open the anonymous envelope, to find a ten-dollar bill, a five-dollar bill, two one-dollar bills, eighty-three cents in assorted change, and a note.

~Dear Olive,

How has your birthday been so far? I miss you sincerely and

wish I could be there with you now. Do you remember that

one birthday of yours we spent together? The one where we

talked under the stars after everyone went to sleep? You told

me that it was the best birthday you ever had because you

got to spend it with me. I'll never forget how beautiful you

looked when you smiled at me.

Please promise to take care of yourself.

With all the love in the world,

Mnemosyne~

I couldn't believe what I had just read. The memory in this letter was not one I was a part of, and who is Mnemosyne? I had so many questions, so many things I felt I needed answers to. So I did the most logical thing I could, I ignored it. That is fine right? It was probably just a prank anyway. Oh well, at least I'm $17.83 richer.

It is when I'm home alone in front of a television, rewatching a show I've seen a million times before. Pretending I don't know what is about to happen whenever the protagonist turns that corner, opens that door, and breaks that vase. Or maybe it's when I reach the bottom of another pint of Ben&Jerry's and start to think about all the calories I just consumed. All of the times I buried myself in blankets and pillows, even though it isn't cold, and it isn't helping anyone. It is feeling worse while making a desperate attempt to feel better about whatever thing I'm upset about. I do the same things over and over again trying to hide my feeling in material comfort. Hopefully one day it will measure up to the real comfort you made me feel, the real comfort you no longer provide to me.

You are warm brownies on an Autumn day

Sugar water tastes like you name

And your words are like buttercream

So soft sweet and smooth

No matter what you say

Your sweet talk gives me cavities

I just want you to embrace me

I’m in dire need

Of dentistry

Let your heart drill holes into me

Now I can no longer speak

Fill them up with something sweet

Your sweet talk gives me cavities

So tell me something sweet

Your simple words

Give me all of your

Wafer butterflies

Why do you always

Push me away

I cry to your lemon drop eyes

They say you love me

You deny

Your sweet talk gives me cavities

I just want you to embrace me

I’m in dire need

Of dentistry

Let your heart drill holes into me

Now I can no longer speak

Fill them up with something sweet

Your sweet talk gives me cavities

So tell me something sweet

I don’t want spice

Sour

Savory

Just give me something sweet

Why won't you embrace me?

I’m in dire need

Of dentistry

I stay hurt if you stay sweet

My mouth is filled

With cavities

So tell me something sweet

I don’t care if it’s hurting me

So tell me something sweet

Your sweet talk gives me cavities

I just want you to embrace me

I’m in dire need

Of dentistry

Let your heart drill holes into me

Now I can no longer speak

Fill them up with something sweet

Your sweet talk gives me cavities

So tell me something sweet

Two years ago, in the summer of 2019, an 11-year-old girl in my town hung herself. Two years ago, about two weeks after the incident, I got pretty close to following in that little girl's footsteps. The keyword being, close.

Her name was not Ana, but it's close as I am going to say because I refuse to say her name. When I learned she was gone, it was my mother that told me. She didn't sugarcoat anything or try to let the news out gently in any way shape or form, she just said: "Ana hung herself last night." and walked out. It has always bothered me how my mother didn't even try to sound upset, she told me a mentally destructive statement like that is if she was telling me I might need to grab a jacket before I left. I honestly wish I had the right to be mad at her for this, but I don't cause I reacted as if she just told me to grab a jacket.

All I said was "Okay.". I showed no emotion at all as if nothing even fazed me about it. How fucked up is that? A child is told coldly how one of their best friends just hung herself and they don't even react. As an 11-year-old girl, I guess maybe it was because I didn't believe it. How can you just believe that someone who was just there, is now gone?

I reacted like a sociopath for a full day, but then I couldn't stop crying for the next two weeks after that because I think I realized that I woke up again and Ana was still dead. It hit even harder when a few more nights after that I finally got around to what little miss Ana wrote in my yearbook. I still have never felt as guilty for anything I have done in my life as how I felt reading, "Hope you had a great last year! <3Ana", while getting ready to go into my second year of middle school.

I watched the entire small town I live in release balloons in the air wear obnoxious shades of purple and cry for someone they didn't know a single thing about. I'm not didn't do those things as well, nor am I going to walk around like I know some truth about a dead girl that no one else knows. If I did that I'd be a liar.

Anyways, it's cold as shit out here, and all these cemetery cats are staring at me like I'm chopped liver. I don't even know why I felt the need to talk about you to your grave like this in the first place. Oh, and before I leave, fuck you, Ana.

Fuck you for making me feel like I was supposed to be your saving grace or some shit like that when you know damn well I'm not cut out for that shit.