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Summer came. For about three days. It’s mid-March, so it should have caught me by surprise, but I’d been waiting for months so I took it in my stride. I thought I was making the best of it at the time, as if Summer was my new girlfriend and I was determined to treat her right. We went for walks, ate ice cream, planted seeds, breakfasted in the garden, fell asleep half dressed. Now it’s over, I feel like I could have done more; I should have paid more attention, should have savoured it, shouldn’t have drunk so much spiced rum. 

I miss you, Summer. Freckles and broken dreams, that’s all I have. And a mild, lingering hangover.