This time of the year is here again

This time of the year is here again. Prospect Park turns into Amazon Rainforest. Coney Island turns into an enchanted bay in Hawaii. A promise turns into a warranty. One’s own body turns into a body from a Victoria’s Secret Commercial; all brown, curvy, happy and relaxed. Everything turns into a better version of itself. It seems like the mouth of Mother Earth, which must be located somewhere in the Antipodes, swallowed mdma the size of the sun and is now projecting its cosmic trip of perfection, harmony and oneness onto entire humanity.

I touch the grass. It’s thick, warm and healthy. The heat makes blood run lazy. But it’s speeding up on circulation encouraged by the commotion on the outside. I’m biking down south. Every single muscle seems excited. The high temperature enfolds every single organic part of me and it seems like I’m wearing a protective suit made of pulsating warmth. It makes me think of the summers I used to spend with my Grandma in the country and how we would walk in the heat through the fields of red poppies to get some fresh milk. It makes me think how my Dad first taught me to ride a bike and I was so ecstatic to be doing something so out of my own way, and believed that I only learnt because he taught me, but he said “You had that ability in you already. I just helped you to find it.” Somehow it is always about Proust and madeleines in the end. No heat weave can come without reference to a heat weave long gone. No love can be greeted without being compared to loves from the past. No breath is released without a memory of those it is a reminiscence of.

I am riding on in the heat. My dress turns into a sail. No, it turns into a pair of wings in the breeze. I am a butterfly and I’m not even kidding. And luckily my brain turns into butter and melts away with the sweat.

I don’t need anything beyond this time-frame. I don’t need to be any better at anything. I don’t need to push myself in any direction from here. I don’t even have to speak. Thank God I don’t have to speak; speaking would break the spell of the Amazon Rainforest, the enchanted Hawaiian bay and the likes. Dreams are sound and safe. Life; suddenly amazed by its unexpected completeness. Everything falls into place. And everything falls there quietly, effortlessly, with no fireworks and status updates, as if it has always been there.

Ah, Summer; when you start to do your magic I already feel sad knowing that you will, in the end, have to go away.

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