I feel awful, I have this secret, this fervent hope I keep silent. I dare not say what I am thinking as it is so unthinkable, so shameful. I’ve tried to come to terms, tried to surface from this place of dark yearning, but I am not strong enough. It grows so strong and fierce, the intensity of my desire threatening to eclipse all, making my every movement a struggle.
I know they’ll say I’m crazy, that I’ll regret saying it, but I don’t believe it. Not a bit. And so, I suppose I might as well say it:
I want summer to be over. I want to wrap myself in autumn’s embrace. I long for the crackle of back-to-school and Halloween longing. I catch flashes of red, renegade leaves turning before their time and my hear soars, a deep rumbling in my belly rises to the surface and the voracity of my hunger for the cooler air and quieter streets makes me tremble. I want to draw the curtains and nest. I want to chop potatoes and mince onions, I want to feel the hot, wet kiss of steam from a simmering pot of stew.
I dream of slipping little legs into bright woolen tights, tenderly twisting ringlets through the edges of hats. I want to giggle over the sight of our breath in the night, the street lights, tall and regal, illuminating our way as we tromp through piles of leaves or drifts of snow. I cannot wait to scamper into bed and burrow into the warmth of Sean’s arms, to sleep side by side, touching the whole night through. Sigh.
I want summer to be over.