To 2015 - 2016

By Dale Kerem

  1. Untitled
    By Sarah Langford, 11
The first time, the sun is just starting to set on the horizon. You’re sitting side by side on a threadbare towel she keeps in the trunk of her car and staring out at the tide coming in. You sneak a glance and find her already looking back, a picture of sea-salt hair and sun-kissed skin, and you feel your next breath catch in your throat because she’s not beautiful – never has been – but in that moment she’s ethereal and you feel like Icarus, flying dangerously close to the low-hanging sun.
You spend a hazy summer afternoon lying next to each other in your backyard with makeshift pillows of backpacks and balled-up shirts. She lets her hand graze your side as she points to a cloud reminiscent of an island and you try to stifle the shudder that runs down your spine. Grass brushes at her skin where the hem of her tank top is riding up and from this angle you can just make out the freckles on her shoulder. You spend too long staring at the sun, and the brightness of it – her – starts to blind you, but you can’t look away.
You know how broken she is – must be – because the light radiating from her skin cannot escape without miniscule cracks on the surface. You know how brave she is, too, attracted to adventure like a moth to a flame. Your dreams are filled with her too-wide smile and wild hand gestures. Her curiosity for all things new and exciting. You try to warn her about getting too close but she flutters around you like you’re the only source of light for miles.
You realize that you are not Icarus – haven’t been – this whole time.