summer heat

it’s 8pm and the buildings are still sweating. their windows blink their heavy lids, weighed down with heat exhaustion. we haven’t been to the beach yet this summer. when you’re deep enough between buildings, sometimes you forget the ocean exists. we have burnt our shoulders brown and sweat a chalk mural blurry and eaten tacos in little tank tops. we’ve watched water evaporate out of our glasses and woken up to skies so blue they make your teeth ache. most of all, though, we’ve exchanged looks with whoever’s around at noon every day: can you believe we’re still willing to go where we’re going under all this heat? then we smile and rake our hair into little piles and keep on walking. years later, we’ll find a sun spot on our neck and remember how much light there was in July.