He’s the Glue on Your Hands Right Before You Peel It Off and Old Books

He’s the glue on your hands right before you peel it off and old books. He’s the sound of sneakers on a gym floor and the glow-in-the-dark prize from deep inside the cereal box. He’s the smell of pencil shavings and old crayons and the hair tie that gets stuck in your hair. He’s an orchestra tuning and a soda can opening. He’s relief and nostalgia and hysterics and guilty pleasures. He’s every scar with a story and peeing after holding it all day. He’s the squeak from fresh cheese curds and mint ice cream and the feeling of paint squishing through your fingers. He always guesses the ending of a murder mystery wrong. He’s the shivers from a perfect song and getting a back massage. He’s the feeling of someone else’s hands running through your hair and impromptu water balloon fights.

He’s the summer vacation you always dreamed of.

You wouldn’t change a thing.