The weather in Toronto has been absolute shit these past few days. From tiny teases of patio-swarming-weather to fucking snow storms two days later, it has been a solid month of summer-blue-balls. 

But today, on this beautiful, warm, “first unofficial evening of summer” night, I am sitting in a Starbucks, sipping my delicious iced tea, watching hot guys pass by, safe behind a floor to ceiling glass barrier I like to call: “The Church/Wellesley Starbucks Judgment Bench”. 

From up here, I get to sit back and watch all the different people-types walk by and wonder to myself all sorts of things, like where they’re coming from and if that guy has ever had a dick in his mouth (and the answer is usually, yes, he has).

But that’s not fair, because maybe he was just experimenting after that one incident where his best bud tackled him to the ground and sat on his face and he didn’t completely hate it. Totally legit! It’s all about sexual freedom, right? Or maybe he’s just a closeted mo’ (to think they still exist!). But really, what else is there to do on such a beautiful sunny evening other than to sit in a Starbucks and people watch like an asshole?? I swear it’s all to feed the writer in me. 

I make eye contact with a few of the guys as they pass by. Some hold the stare, some turn away, and some just float on by. Oh, the eyes that got away. We could have been star-crossed lovers, if only you gave me more than one-fifth of a second…

But what really surprises me is how badly I want to stop some of these people and tell them things like, “I think you’re really cute”, and “I love how you rock that neon green beret” and “if I had your freckles I’d never stop taking selfies.” 

tonight, the moon hovers, full and bright above me against the deep navy of the night sky. autumn’s breath of cool, crisp air creeps over the edge of the open window, and like a fox, slips by these last few days of summer, impatient for september’s slow beginning. i take a breath and listen to you breathe. beneath the covers, your legs search for mine, our arches sliding into place. sleep hangs heavy on the eyelids, but i have a few more thoughts to make before i slip away myself.

my eyes wander outside, counting constellations, searching for direction like so many before me… i breathe in autumn, and sigh for spring. we lasted through the summer, i tell myself, and with a whisper i ask the moon to guide use through winter. 

June began and ended in ordinary quarter life-fashion: it came and went like a really hot one night stand. You knew that June was in the cards. You felt it in your bones. And when June finally followed you back home to your apartment, stripped off their clothes and fucked you good and hard for 31 days, June leaves you sweaty, emotional, and begging for more. 

And then July comes around and you forget about June. You think about the last two months of summer left to go and what you might do to savour it. What epic trips can you plan? Who or what is waiting for you in those dark, hot, sweltering summer nights to come?

***

July 1st. The last night of Pride. I’m walking out of the club, tired and alone. My feet hurt and I’m ready to collapse, but up ahead on the main road I can see that people are still out and about; roaming, cruising, laughing, and clearly not giving a single fuck that it’s almost 2AM on a Sunday night. Through the noise, heat and my general post-Pride exhaustion, I can feel that there’s still a bit of magic in the air. I force a final wind to carry me towards the main strip; this doesn’t have to be over, yet. And as I’m about to turn the corner, out of the shadows and into the lamplit street, three boys run past me, each with a freshly lit roman candle in hand and begin firing them up towards the stars. And as the first burst of light hits the sky, everyone around me turns in unison and we all begin to cheer.

See you next year, June. 

***

The first thunderstorm of July wakes you up in the middle of the night. It’s 1:47 AM and you’ve left your window open. You can hear the rain pelting down on the pavement, on your roof, and against your window. You’re still stuck in that sweet in-between, a little annoyed and more than groggy, with a pinch of dreamy. But when that crack of thunder shakes you out of bed, you can’t help but let out a slight smile. You smell the rain slipping into your room, the hot pavement sighing with relief. You go back to sleep, staring out at the window from your bed, the purple and blue raindrop kaleidoscope the last thing you see. 

And if June was the full out party, then July is the calm after the storm. It is the clean up and the healing, full of soft sunsets to reflect upon… 

I think about where I’ve been in the last few days, and then critically examine the decisions I’ve made. I go back and forth between letting go and holding on, unsure of which is better—how do you let go without forgetting? How do you hold on without moving backwards? Why are there only ever two directions to move towards? 

I await the arrival of August. July has been good to me, patched me up some, but still, July leaves me with more questions than before. But as I move through my days, I keep the questions bottled up inside, hoping that when the leaves begin to fall and the colours begin to shift, I’ll find the courage to let it all go. 

And I can smell it in the air. Sort of damp and crisp and fresh, all at the same time.

It’s warm enough for a t-shirt, but you’d still love the feeling of a big comfy sweater to tuck your knees into when sitting on a bench. You just want to feel the air against your legs as you run through the grass with your friends; that glorious sense of freedom and the outside. Smiles are more contagious than ever and tonight you’re passing them on like nobody’s business.

Grab a bike and feel the wind blow through your hair.

Take hold of someone’s hand and run through the forest.

Go for a drive and ride the wind as your palm soars out the window, up and down and up again.

Jump.

Scream.

Tumble.

Summer is coming.

Out till 4AM.

Good start to summer.

in twenty years time i wonder if you will still look at me the way you did that night; me from out east, you from out west, meeting in the middle amidst a vast plain of dry nothingness for one summer. 

we will return to our oceans and stand about the beach at sunset, praying for the undertow to drag us away, anything to rid ourselves of this emptiness. let the tides smooth out the jagged edges of our loss, to make it bearable, to make it okay for me to think of you and not want to burst, scream, cry, and curse myself for dreaming of something beyond this summer.

you told me to be realistic.

deep down, i feel as if i will never mean to you what you meant to me. 

will you recall the way you fit into me with arms beneath mine, reaching up and around and pulling me down, while I laced mine around your neck, hanging like a totem, heart to beating heart.