Keyframe

Cruel Summer

"What doesn't kill me makes me want you more."

- "Cruel Summer," Taylor Swift (2019)

Lillian

Summer has been my lifeblood since the moment I took my first breath, opening my eyes in the early-morning sunshine of the solstice. Everything about it makes me feel truly like myself—the warm, reassuring breeze, the sunny sherbet skies, the days that seem to go on and on for as long as you want them to. Even if there are more worldly things that I've loved about this season throughout my life: surfing, fireflies, blooming flowers, limitless sunshine, and even uninterrupted time with Jordan, something about summer is also deeply spiritual to me.

Every piece of nature is teeming with energy, and yet this is the only time of rest I really get throughout the year. The chance to sit and reflect as the world keeps spinning in overdrive around me...it just puts things in perspective, I guess. 

Heaven knows I could use a little.

Although I've spent an hour ignoring the chittering of morning birds and the perpetual brightening of the world from behind my eyelids, tiny paws on my back are what finally rouses me from my limbo of consciousness. I hold out a hand for Sid to nuzzle as a greeting, using my other arm to prop myself up and take a look around.

The sun has obviously had a few hours to climb, drowsy light painting the blue walls of my cabin bedroom, but the darkness hanging in the corners lets me know I'm not too terribly late. A pop of color draws my attention as Sid leaps onto the hardwood floor, and it takes my tired brain a few more seconds to realize that a bursting bouquet of flowers has materialized on my dresser.

Good morning to you too, Alex.

I exhale through my nose, throw my covers back, and try not to step on Sid as I move to further inspect the offering. My parents must have brought it in while I was sleeping, letting the meowing tabby at my feet in with them.

The bouquet is both vibrant and a little restrained for Alex's taste—I can tell he's holding back on the theatrics for my sake. I place my right hand at the base of the glass vase, using my left to graze one of the many pink tulips reaching out to me. It's tucked in with dozens of white daffodils and blue snapdragons, forming a watercolor portrait of all my favorite colors. 

The beauty of the arrangement almost makes me miss the note attached to the vase, and, as I flick it in consideration, I wonder if I should pretend I did. I told Alex I needed space—a request that I'm just now realizing I didn't actually expect him to heed so diligently. After he kissed me goodbye the night he left for New York, our communication in the past week has been painfully scarce. He'll reach out to me to make sure I'm alive and well, I'll respond, and he'll tell me he loves me and leave it at that. No badgering. No challenges. No attempts to wiggle his way into my decision-making process.

I pick up the card and open it, eyes quickly roaming before I realize the message is incredibly short...another disturbingly uncharacteristic move. In fact, it's only two, straight-to-the-point sentences.

They're not all native species, but they are locally grown. Te amo, maní.

- Alex

My lips pull tight in an amused grin, even if the conciseness of his cheeky words does disappoint some unexplainable piece of me. I know that him keeping his distance is a good thing, that he's only respecting my wishes like any normal person would want him to do. But my longing for his presence still makes me feel him everywhere, always half-expecting a touch on my waist or a kiss on my head. The discomfort I feel when I'm not sheltered in his arms is probably the push I need to further examine what led to this betrayal in the first place.