Summer

And all she can taste is the cold of the sun beaming down upon her.

The loneliest time of the year; lonelier than Christmas, more isolating than cold winter nights. The schools sleep as the students finally wake. During the summer, she doesn’t exist. She ignores phone calls. It’s on silent. Facebook becomes the terrifying nightmare that is now filled with cobwebs accumulated from neglect. The icon of two turquoise busts with a white ‘x’ encased in a circle of red sits in the corner of her computer screen. No one can reach her, no one can touch her and no one can hurt her. She cares too much to show others that she cares at all. Yes, this is the time of year when dreamers fall into their own thoughts. I get lost in them once in a while, only to find my way out, just long enough to have a good cry.

And so what if she never goes out. That feeling is worse than knowing about the rumours. What does it feel like, to be wanted, as opposed to an obligation? Prove that she’s not invisible. Prove to her that you haven’t forgotten all that she once meant to you. Dissolve all her fears. She’s sick of writing to nobody, and being afraid to write to somebody. She wishes her friends existed, so that she could see you listen to her problems. Just listen and lift this burden. But you are just paper; the infinite medium of her mind. Nothing and everything.