There’s no future here. No mortgages, no awkward “what are we” texts. Just the now : the bass thrumming from a car stereo, the chlorine smell in your hair, the way the sunset turns everyone’s skin gold.
This is : light as a linen dress, sticky as a popsicle drip, and gloriously, terrifyingly temporary. girlvania summer lust
May your lust be loud, your heart be curious, and your autumn be wise enough to thank the summer for the chaos. There’s no future here
This summer lust isn’t about being chosen. It’s about choosing—wildly, messily, joyfully. Maybe you choose the quiet artist who reads poetry by the lake. Maybe you choose the chaos of flirting with three different people at the bonfire. Maybe you choose yourself , and realize that’s the hottest option of all. This is : light as a linen dress,
There’s a grief there. A soft one.