Olive

The sun beats down on the crisp summer streets. Hot, heavy, and humid. No where to go from here. Wandering up and down the sidewalks over holes, across cracks. Jean shorts soaked to the core of their seams, water dripping slowly down her legs. Foot prints and wet drops dotting the path, shadows behind her, while the sun warms her face. Shoes to her chest one arm hanging out, twirling her fingers through the heat. More important are the thoughts running through her mind, choices she made, plans and dreams.

We will live in a big olive green house with a white door and shutters. There will be children and heartache and mistakes and love. We will sit on the grass in the front yard and eat tomatoes like apple's, basking in the summer heat. You will look at me like there has never been a more beautiful thing, and I will dream of you even when you're next to me.

(This has nothing to do with the writing, I just believe it.)