I always felt that summer was something to be endured. The entire season felt like the hop-skip of bare feet on blistering concrete, waiting to jump into the cooling depths of the pool. I met you in the height of it, in the hottest stretch of weeks, when the temperature made the city bend and twist into wavy lines that curled up from the pavement. You had pretty eyes, a prettier smile. But what I remember the most is how sitting next to you felt like the first cool morning in September, when the breeze became a caress on my sunburnt shoulders and the days stretched out before me into small pockets of shade. And when you said my name, I could hear with it the promise this season is about to change.