The Summer I Hoped

As we die, are we not to look back at childhood ever so fondly?

I hope that death is like a long day at the pool.

I hope that I’ll swim, swim, swim,

and swim some more.

I’ll swim in the juicy details of my life until

I can’t swim any longer.

I’ll swim until my limbs are Jello and the

sunburn on my face burns so bad,

nothing will soothe it.

 

Then, when my body can’t swim anymore,

when choking on the water goes from fun to scary,

I’ll crawl in the backseat of our car

and my mom will drive me home.

Bright streetlights will dance across

the insides of my eyelids,

keeping me just on the brink of consciousness.

The lights make fantastic stories in my head,

performing their once-in-a-lifetime soap opera

over and over until I get home.

And I’ll let my head bump against the window

as we ride through harsh potholes.

because it hurts kind of bad,

in the way that it hurts in a good way.

When we get home, she’ll brush my brittle

chlorine green hair out of my face,

and carry me inside.

Then, she’ll place me in my big girl bed,

tuck me in,

place a kiss to my freckled head, 

and turn out the lights. 

I want to lay there, sleeping the best sleep

I will have ever slept in my life,

and I will never wake up from that fantastic sleep. 

That's what I hope death is like.

Author's Note

ignore grammar problems wrote in like 10 minutes lol