I’m listening to Blink 182 because it sounds like early-summer music, but the sky above the full-green trees is black.

I want it to be summer so much.

It’s raining; I’m driving with the window down.

I want it to be summer so badly.

I watch it stay light late and curse it for scorning me. I hear it raining when I’m not looking and wish I didn’t have to know.

I want it to be summer now.

It’s June: I wait all year for June. For the end of mud. I want to ride a bicycle. But the dog keeps getting wet in the yard.

It’s cold.

Why can’t it be summer already? I only have so many summers left.