How do you imagine Summer? Well, Summer is a woman, that’s for sure.
Of course, forget those carbon copied women with their plumped lips and cheekbones…they are all made from the same mold, have you ever notice that? Italian women who “had-some-work-done-by-the-same-surgeon” can be easily spotted abroad. You see them and tell yourself, yes they are, then you wait until they talk just to be sure and no, you weren’t wrong, it’s right them. You can also recognize them because even on the beach they keep wearing makeup and wedges that sinking into the sand stop them from walking.
Well no, Summer is not like this, Summer is a woman whose beauty is vaguely blurred, she doesn’t wear makeup to go to the sea, hides her face behind bid sunglasses and bigger hats, she lets the sun touch her skin and show her sweet freckles, heels for her are not a must, especially on the beach. Summer has messy hair and some split ends too, maybe it was the wind or who cares, life and love always ruffle you and she likes when it happens; she is a woman walking barefoot only wearing her man’s shirt, although her closet is full of dresses, and shoes, of courses.
Summer is a book read in one breath, one of those books you can’t wait to read the last line but at the same time, you would like it to never end. Summer rarely looks herself in the mirror, because she doesn’t wear makeup, I told you, and on top of that, she has no time for that…she has so many “silly” things to do, as walking by the shore or looking for falling stars.
Summer is a languishing gaze to a stranger, just lightly hinted but leaving its sign down deep; she’s a dress that leaves your spine naked, because Summer is made to show your back, while you are gazing at sunsets.