Not All Summers Are Hot

Not all summers are hot.

The last breeze that spring always brought along seem to have rudely taken my breath as a parting gift I never permitted.

The cloying humidity and prickly heat from the sun only reminded me I actually have the capacity of feeling something other than sadness, but no warmth is enough to fuel the pitless emptiness I'm feeling inside.

I remember the days last summer, before your existence mattered, before all your kisses, and I love yous - I think that was the last time I felt unfettered freedom, and how I regretted not savouring every moment in pictures and memories.

Not all summers are hot, some like the one today are stone cold.

Not a reflective tale, just some daytime scribbles to get over the mundane hours.