olfactory memory - you know the feeling

this room smells like summer: melted popsicles and shades of red. in here i feel the warm defeat of someone who has given too much.

last june i watched dark green leaves turn light, translucent skin and kelly capillaries mimicking the wash on my jeans. it smells like summer in march, teasing what can’t be had in the thick of emerald storms. it feels like april in this room, rain on purple bruises, a hope that’s long been lost.

i can’t wait for callused heels, for sunburnt cheeks and muddy streaks on well-worked legs. last august i longed for a burnt orange fire, for the leaves to start writing their wills; now i itch for sugared snow, for toes in the sand and to lose my handwriting in favor of smiles and talk.

this room smells like summer: unattainable flame, a lingering lust for freedom and untethered sun.