Treasure Cove.

I can recall everything so vividly, such tremendous sensation over such trivial things. The sun shone through burning autumn leaves. I watched it bleed out, feeling it’s warmth run up over the shoulder of my jacket. I pulled oversized headphones up over my mop of hair, remembering that I hated ear buds and that I think the band Stars swear way more than any band that regularly plays piano should. I still listen to them though, I can’t deny that. I sat on a yellow blanket in the middle of a field. Tea and Amy were there, taking pictures of dandelions and each other and me. Morgan was on his way too.
I wasn’t too interested at that point. I lay back on our blanket and squinted up at the sky. My view was obscured partially by the oak tree that Morgan and I used to climb. We’d always manage to crawl out to the end of this one particularly strong branch and then drop off into the water. It was always so relaxing and warm. This place is ours, where we spend our summers. Our very own treasure cove.

This story has no comments.