Scars — Of Summer After !!top!!

You have the tan lines to prove you lived. A white strip where your watch was. The ghost of a bikini strap across your shoulders. But underneath that bronze is the memory of the burn—the 2 PM mistake of falling asleep on the towel, the sting of aloe, the week of shedding like a snake. That’s the first scar: the knowledge that pleasure always has a price.

We romanticize summer as a season of action, but for many of us, it’s a season of inertia. The scar of the unread book. The untouched hiking trail. The love confession you swallowed on the dock at midnight because you were too scared to ruin the silence. September arrives with a clipboard, asking for your receipts. What did you actually do? scars of summer after

So go ahead. Let the golden hour fade. Pull on the sweater. The light will return next June. You have the tan lines to prove you lived