a summer of friendship with you is outside of time, past moments and nows and about a thousand imagined futures; it’s piloting a 40-foot cutter — with its shining waxed red cedar deck and sun-white sails — through sparkling seas of the reflexive curiosity and clear-sighted discernment in your eyes when you take on the world.

a summer with you is setting my watch to the slow, deep rise and fall of my own lungs, out-of-breath from spending the whole season sprinting to chase the brightening of your face and the crumpling around your eyes that happens when you laugh.

a summer of friendship with you is standing at attention with practiced pride atop castle walls amongst the heraldry and flags of your house; watching you journey on horseback and in gleaming armor back out into the world on another quest with your carefully-chosen company, because i learned so quickly that you always return victorious. 

a summer with you is kneeling before the dizzying mandala of countless kaleidoscoping plans for coming days, and it’s the thrill of realizing each of those imagined futures will be ours, because you’re spirited and sure and willing to adventure and to try and to live.
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