My summer can’t be described by a series of days but a series of phrases. It started in a rush, a whirlwind of storing, saving, and narrowing down what things will living require for the next two months of my life. Then it became a period of time in which I was meant to help guide and mold the soft warm minds while being pushed against by the ones with the cold minds who cared so much they pushed the children away. It was a time of chaos and worry followed by a brief time of bliss and responsiblessness. The sun kissing my body like a lover met for the first time in ages, welcomed in like family, each asking the other to stay knowing they must part soon for the change is coming and the colour orange just can’t stand the competition.

Now my summer is a time of anxious waiting. Knowing the transition is imminent but feeling so separate from it that time passes unnoticed, a silent observer.

My summer is fading fast and each day becomes a longer night. The nighttime unsheathes its claws and reaches ever closer across striping the sheets and the blankets that promise a ‘home sweet home’ without the familial screaming. Each night closer to the orange seems much darker and I dare not put my feet over the edge of the bed because time in the darkness screams much too loud.