Summer Nights
That summer was the first time I allowed her to get close.
Those summer nights were the first time I let myself hold her waist for longer than a second.
Those summer days where I could hold her hand for more than just comfort or added equilibrium.
That summer when she didn't shy away, when she sometimes reached for me.
That summer where clothes were randomly exchanged – my jacket on night, one of her extra t-shirts that she always kept with her.
That summer where we used up more disposable camera's than the tourists, but our photo's were of us acting goofy, play-serious, of our friends, photos of what our friends had taken of us – my favourite being the photo of Bells and me, Bella hands clenched into fists, playing at fighting me, and me with my hands up in surrender.
Those summer days of heated daze, where she told me all about Arizona, where it was hot all the time – even in winter. They changed from singlets to t-shirts and put on longer shorts. She talked about her crazy mother, about her step-father who played ball for a living.
Those summers days where we had water fights while 'washing' the cars.
Those summer days where we'd just lie under trees, staring up through the leaf patterns above us, and say nothing at all.
The day's when, if it was hot enough, I'd actually get her swimming.
The day's when I'd just throw her in the water because I was bigger then her.
The lazy summer afternoons where she's bake cookies or muffins or cake and I'd eat it all before they had finished cooking.
The afternoons where she cleaned out the fridge, and I got to eat it all.
The afternoons spent telling 'scary stories' with the pack.
The nights by the bonfire, with her curled up into my chest as Dad told stories.
The night's with the pack that somehow turned into mornings without us getting any sleep, and with no lag in the conversation.
The nights when I'd sit with her on her front porch, listening to crickets and cicadas.
The nights when we'd stroll down the beach after midnight, holding fingers, playing silly word games or singing any nursery rhymes we could remember.
The nights where I'd be working on my Rabbit, and chatting happily away, to find that she had nodded off, hair in a mess, head resting on an old 44 gallon drum.
Night's where I'd teach her to dance like she was in a club.
Night's where she taught me to dance like I was at Prom.
That one summer night when we both got drunk when our dad's were off fishing.
We don't remember what happened, but I woke up first, naked, to a very naked Bella asleep next to me.
That night, I took photos of her sleeping – nothing dirty – her with a sleepy little smile, her completely relaxed against me.
That was the last night of Summer.