This summer is defined by Cold Roses, and driving down Route 96 to avoid the thruway, and wishing the hills weren’t cluttered with car dealerships. This summer is about staying put when you want to run, run, run away.

This summer is decorated with moments of looking where I shouldn’t, and remaining unable to keep my hands to myself. This summer is not for improvement, this summer is not for self-empowerment, it is for the best and worst of me, celebrating each other for the first time.

I haven’t given up pen chewing, or nail-biting, or car-singing to no one. Or justifying my more vocal human feelings with the words of others when mine just won’t do.

I wanna be the bluebird singing
Singing to the roses in her yard
Roses in her yard her father grew for her
It’s been raining like Tennessee honey
So long I got too heavy to fly

Ain’t no bluebird ever gets too heavy to sing

Lie to me
Sing me a song
Sing me a song until the morning comes
And if the morning don’t come, will you lie to me
Will you take me to your bed
Will you lay me down
Ti’l I’m heavy like the rocks in the riverbed
That my savior made

~Magnolia Mountain,
Ryan Adams and the Cardinals, Cold Roses