In my dreams, my mother comes into the balcony
and is sucked right into the void
In my reality, everything takes the shape of human figures:
the trees, the curtains
Maybe I’m not wasting my summer
maybe my summer is wasting me,
tricking me with the golden sunlight
on beige apartment blocks but
it actually just grows into its August by
draining me of my juices,
as if the tables have turned
and I’m the peach
My friends are lucky for finding comfort
in fictional tales and stories from the past but
I have this tendency to love the present and reality
and those are tough things for one to love
And I’ve learned that memories aren’t like leftovers;
you can’t feed off yesterday’s bliss
while being miserable in today’s presence