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.
