My Favourite Season Summer ❲FHD • 2K❳

And then, the fireflies.

The air conditioner was a lie.

She was right. Summer is crazy. It’s too hot, too fast, too bright. It ends too soon. my favourite season summer

Afterward, the air was clean and cold. The streets ran with rivers of rainwater. And the smell—that impossible, sweet, wet-earth smell—was the smell of being alive. And then, the fireflies

We sat on the curb as the wind arrived, hot and frantic, flipping the leaves of the maple trees inside out. The first fat, warm raindrops splattered on the asphalt, smelling of dust and ozone. And then the sky tore open. Summer is crazy

Summer is the season of three o’clock shadows and six o’clock sun. We played pickup basketball until our legs turned to rubber, the orange ball a sticky blur against the blinding blue sky. The blacktop was hot enough to fry an egg, so we played in bare feet, hopping from foot to foot like we were dancing on coals. When the final, desperate buzzer sounded—Sam’s victory roar echoing off the garage door—we didn’t go inside. We went to the hose.