I could taste the summer on him. Late nights and late mornings, hot days and hotter nights. Our lips meet in an explosion of color, reds and yellows, blues and greens, pinks and violets burst behind closed eyes, dance in fire across my skin.

I could smell the summer: sunblock and sea salt, bonfires and blackberries, liquor and lust and dirt and dusk. Hands fly everywhere, faster than heartbeats, tracing the familiar landscapes, holding on to this one last brilliant dance. Sliding through silky black strands, clutching a slightly damp t-shirt. Untucking a soft button-down, smoothing a sweat-slicked back.

I search for stability as hot, wet kisses sweep me off my feet. I can barely breathe, yet the smell of summer doesn't dissipate. It stays with me, that inexplicable essence of heat and sex and sweat and love. He pulls back to stare at me, green eyes open wide. I know I'm staring back, eyes just as wide. I'm drinking him in and he's drinking me in, summer and winter blending together, infinitely more beautiful than either alone.

I can't bear the space between our bodies and I pull him back against me, crushing his lips under mine, drowning in summer. Our bodies come together and it's good, so good, we fit together perfectly, but there is too much between us, too many layers keeping all of me from touching all of him. My hands pull his shirt over his head. His fingers tremble against the buttons on my chest. I desperately wish I could tear off and cast aside more than cotton and thread. I wish we were anyone but ourselves, anyone but the two of us, stifled under the weight of expectations we want no part of. I want nothing more than a thousand too-hot summers in this tiny, dusty cottage, free from everything. The clock chimes. Our hands slow.

We're standing in this cottage on our last day together. We've been away too long, the questions wills start soon. Our ragged breathing echoes in the quiet, hot kitchen, bare chests heaving, inches apart. Our bags sit on the floor by the stove, quiet reminders that this isn't just another day, that there won't ever be anything more than this. I look at him. He looks at me. The chiming stops. He moves forward, eyes never leaving mine, to rest his forehead against mine. His breath on my cheek sends shivers through me. My eyes close as his lips brush against mine, impossibly sweet and unbearably sad.

This is the last time.

My eyes stay closed. He moves away and I feel the weight of his absence crash over me. I love you, I scream in my head but I don't say it out loud. I don't say anything. I know and he knows and nothing will change and nothing can stop what's coming. I open my eyes and he hands me my shirt, his already on, hiding all that beauty from my eyes. He throws his pack over his shoulder and it's my turn to turn trembling fingers on these buttons. He gives me one last lingering, inscrutable look and walks out the door. I take a deep, deep breath and do the same.

I don't bother to lock the door. He's never coming back and without him, this place means nothing to me. I step off the porch and the summer sun washer over me. I breathe it in, the only bit of him I'm allowed to take with me. I can just barely see his retreating back heading up the path in one direction. I turn and move the other way, the taste of summer heavy on my tongue.