Take me back to the summer, when times were simpler and the days were longer. My worries were far away, in a future that I didn’t have to think about. Down the street, the waves crashed against the shore and my feet wiggled in the sand. The wind was salty and my biggest concern was my hair turning into a tangled mess.

I miss the days when the sun wouldn’t say goodbye until it was already nighttime, and the light gave way to electric nights that were full of possibilities. Reckless abandon, ear to ear grins, secrets shared, and hands gripped tight – all telltale signs of a summer you’d never forget.

The summer was when I had my first job. It wasn’t glamorous at all; I flipped rice burgers in the sweltering heat and sweat all of my makeup off. I had to plaster on a smile as customers asked me over and over if the burgers were gluten free. I held back a sneer as someone asked if I even knew what gluten was.

It wasn’t all bad, though. I got to blast music and trade food with other vendors. It certainly helped that an ice cream stand was right across from me. Working with kids my own age meant that I always had someone to dance with when there were no customers around. And the minimum wage at least got me started on my savings.

The summer was also when I gave my heart a chance to open up. I was reluctant at first, swearing off boys after a semester of failed romances with guys who didn’t know the difference between “your” and “you’re.” I had already deleted Tinder and put on my IDGAF attitude, ready to take on the summer without any drama or butterflies in my stomach. But one guy in a henley slowly changed my mind.

He took me painting, took it slow, and baked me crème brûlée. He shook my mother’s hand, won over my dog, and put up with my antics. What more could I have possibly asked for?

But now the days turn dark at 5 p.m. and the cold keeps me inside. The stress of exams and obligations leaves less time for romance. I hide in my big fuzzy sweater, sip my tea and wish for the summer to return.