And this is what summer does to me: it urges me to wander along the sidewalk, stare deep into the cracks and crevices of the broken pavement, and try not to think of all the times I walked the line for you.
The clouds are dreamy and inflated with whipped cream, as sunlight shines through them. In the beautiful world through which I travel, all I can think of is the way you look at 2 p.m. on a Sunday afternoon. The sunlight is delicious on my skin and I am basking in it. The heat stings me lightly. The sun kisses every inch of me.
A couple walks down the sidewalk opposite of me with their spotted dog, conversing with each other while I pass. I admire the way they hold each other. As they turn the corner, I know I will never see them again.
I am a parallel line, I proclaim to myself, while my mind subconsciously drifts to you.
God, if my math teacher was here, she’d call me silly. I can just hear her voice exclaiming, urging me to learn, telling me, “parallel lines never cross.”
Still, I wonder, will we ever cross paths?
