Places to melt in

I hate the summertime. Nothing feels real in the heat and days melt into hours spent unwell and wishing of cooler days to walk about. Migraines are mirages into the most unsettling parts of life - the still parts that haunt you and your brain into thinking that nothing is as okay as it could be.

Images of the beauty of skirts and effortless dresses sitting on your body became realized and destroyed as the summertime makes you remember just how surreal everything is and how it's too much when the sun reminds you that your body is, in fact, real.

Somewhere I am in an elevator in Capri in the 70s soaking in the music that drifts in and out of the speakers and feeling the heat of the sun still sticking to my skin like a burden to my chest.

I used to look up stock film footage of Las Vegas and Los Angeles in the 50s. I liked the eerie static that marked each carefully lined boulevard and each sign and every car as they all twinkled together into what looked like a carefully orchestrated fever dream. Why do we always wish for a carefully orchestrated past unlike the ones we grew up on. Every single still of those stock films showed otherwise, but it's the static and twinkle that makes us wish.

I like dark blots of reds like wine-stained lips and powdery blues and baby greens that look like how I would imagine home on its good days. For the longest time, I thought I could escape and find my way out into something that I've dreamt up, but I realized that I'm too indecisive to make the jump. It wasn't until I recently felt what I think love should be like that I felt brave enough to make such stretches out into the world somewhat on my own. What will become of me once I can finally take the leap and do things without fear for once? What sorts of things will I achieve then?

The night sky overwhelms me and leaves me deeply unsatisfied with myself. I wish there was more to hold onto in the present so I could stop longing for the things I create in my head.