That Summer

That Summer

That was the summer I tried to run away.

That was the summer I couldn’t run.

The summer I stopped running.

That summer, I lost my best friend.

(Though not in the way you would think.)

That was the summer I roamed the suburbs on my bike.

That constant summer, before everything changed,

though change was staring me in the face.

That summer I found a tunnel,

with beautiful murals painted on its walls.

That was also the summer the paintings were scribbled out.

That was the summer where I was still a kid,

but I heard grown-up things that made me scared,

things I didn’t want to hear.

And worst of all, that didn’t make them false.

 

It was the last day of summer that I tried to run.

I think it was from myself.

That day I hopped on my bike and started pedaling desperately.

So fast, that the people in passing cars stared.

So fast that I was afraid.

I kept running away,

but whatever was following me wouldn’t leave.

That was the summer I stopped at the old park,

and sat alone on a bench.

That was the evening the sun started to set through the trees,

turning them yellow.

And that was the day I caught up to myself.

That day I admitted I was cynical,

because I didn’t want to be disappointed.

That was also the day I started to doubt the bad things.

That moment I stopped running.

I was me.

Then I left.

That was the evening I visited

the dirty pond behind the golf course

that I used to play at.

That was the summer I saw the old turtle that lived there

stare at me through the water and then

disappear.

That was the summer I rode home

Different.

That was the summer I tried to run away.

Jesus, I love summer.  

Reviews

[Bandit Wordsing]

I really enjoyed your piece.