Summer days are spent doing nothing,
Whether sitting hot flaming with a buddy conversing,
Over glowing coal and calcined bones,
In the periods between laughing and cooling off,
Most of our summers are spent doing nothing
Sometimes we head to the city,
Stepping into aluminum cars,
The girl seemingly screaming,
Holding onto metal bars,
As the shirt reveals a tan line by the arm
As we fight the abrupt shifting,
Our bodies rubbing onto living beings,
Occasionally revealing in the background sitting,
A girl glancing over a relaxed pair of eyes,
As we wipe the sweat of our foreheads,
Our sips dripping,
patiently waiting for the chance with the stranger,
moments of beautiful nothingness, as she catches me smiling back
We wake up and our schedule is not watching over us,
And there’s time for some reading,
And some coffee stains on the white
Our transition into consciousness is natural
Our dreams have time to marinate in our minds
There’s more energy and more lust now,
There’s awe in everything touched by the light,
And as we wait for the color to dry up,
In this waiting between impulse and reward,
In this waiting most of our summer is gone
And we submerge our hotheads into the cold blue,
Our thoughts evaporate into clouds without hue,
And a mind without color, is a white canvas (a tool)
A white that gets dirty by the color of the moon
And the girl strains the sandy water off her hair,
the sands frictions inside our wet shirts,
And we promise a brief love,
A love of nothingness,
A time to throw away
There’s beauty in this summertime,
In not being in a hurry all the time,
In not needing a purpose for every line,
In living by the what the spirit dictates,
By what is right for us now
Yes, we spend our summers doing nothing,
Our memory a blurred mush,
Of colored drinks and late-nights bliss,
But if nothing is what we do,
When we celebrate with fireworks
the breeze of summer nights,
Doesn’t it feel like our soul works too?
I don’t know, and there’s no time to know (only feeling)
Filing the time between feelings
With beautiful moments,
That how I spend my summers,
Most of time (you see),
Summer days are spent doing nothing
words_martin hidalgo illustration_ainsley vetter
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