Nostalgic

So many times I've held a melting popsicle in my hand.  You know, the kind that slides and sticks down your skin as the excess juice drips onto the ground?  Well, that's summer for you.  Or, at least, my summers as a child.  See, back then I hated that there was goop consuming my hand.  I didn't like that whenever I touched anything it left a bit of itself behind because the popsicle juice stuck to that, too.

And then there were those summers where I hung out with friends everyday.  I lived so many stories, I couldn't ever tell them all.  Now, they're just blurred together.  But I know I liked friends.  I liked watching movies and playing truth or dare and being scared of skinwalkers.  I liked having summer crushes.  I liked laughing.  I liked summer.

So what do I do now?  I play Zelda.  I write.  I read.  I watch TV.  Because I'm never asked to go anywhere, and I'm too lazy to initiate the asking.  But you know what's funny?  Even though I miss the old summers and socializing and playing.  I'm just fine with summer the way it is now.

Why is that?

Why do I do that?

I wish that I was covered in popsicle juice.  Then I would stick to everyone who ever touched me and they'd have to do all this unproductive stuff with me.  I mean, isn't that fun in itself?  Isn't that summer?  Isn't summer doing something with someone, even if you're doing nothing?