SUMMER

𝑰𝒏 𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒓, 𝑰 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏.

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Curly hair, brushing can wait a few months.

Barefoot, salt-kissed, and just wild enough to forget what day it is.

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I remember how good it feels to exist without purpose for a while.

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There’s something about this season…

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It’s like the world takes one long exhale and finally loosens its grip.

The rules melt.

The clocks forget how to tick.

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And all that’s left is the exquisite art of doing nothing.

Not the lazy kind of nothing,

but the sacred, sensual kind.

The kind that lets you actually flow.

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Where time is spent licking fruit off your fingers,

letting seafoam kiss your legs,

watching the sky turn gold for no reason but to please your eyes.

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It’s a soft rebellion against pressure.

A gentle riot of joy.

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I return to that wild woman,

the one who dances on tables until the end of the night,

watches the moon and the stars,

laughs loud under the sun,

listens to cicadas on a hammock until naptime,

tastes the juicy gifts of Mother Nature,

swims and explores the depths of new seas,

and lets the sand caress her feet like a lover.

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The one who doesn’t just relax…but surrenders.

Summer is not just a season for me,

It’s a state of being.

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An intimate, ecstatic homecoming.

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