a letter to summer, twenty twenty-four

a stream of consciousness letter to celebrate the end of summer

summer,

a photo i took on a train, somewhere in poland, circa 2023

at the start of it, things still made sense. there was still a chill in the air that i embraced; an open window with cigarette smoke billowing out of it, a hoisted flag that tells the world—This Is Where I Live. at the start of summer, i still knew where i lived.

now, when the chill has returned and settled in my bones, i’m not sure what part of summer to reminisce. the part where i painted big, bold brushstrokes on the canvas and fancied myself an artist, or the part now, where i sit and smoke, and smoke, and smoke.

taken by yours truly. prague, circa 2023

summer can be a revelation (frankly, like any season). for instance, last summer i lived in prague for a whole month, and felt for the first time in three years, how i did in twenty-twenty when i’d fallen in love. then i went on to vienna, then rome, then bratislava, then budapest, flew to india, went to kashmir, and then finally, flew back home. those months—a lifetime within a summer—i was well and truly free.

taken by yours truly. kashmir, circa 2023

but, who was i then?

i still don’t know.

many nights this summer i wish i could turn back time. not to add anything to those days and nights, but just to experience them again; to tell myself that that is also a world that exists, and i can exist with and in it.

this summer mirrors the last in a few ways, but in several ways, it is real and better. it grounds me in myself, a gravity so strong i cannot think of escaping. it has been months since i’ve been out of the house, and at this point, the world outside has eroded itself to dust and i cannot believe anything exists.

taken by yours truly. view from my window, circa 2024

august is a calling, a twice-pulled string that tugs on the town’s bell. september is a test, an امتحان (imtehaan). october is when life starts feeling worthwhile again.

this is a short letter. this letter is all i have instead of gratitude; this letter is also a milestone of sorts, for me to look back at. maybe in the dead of winter, when i’m human again, i’ll feel differently. maybe i’ll even miss the decaying of this summer. but in the thick of it, i cannot feel my limbs or my nerve endings. everything is stuck to the walls, i have to peel it with my fingers.

goodbye,

summer.

thank you for reading this. consider subscribing—it’s free—to get more of my words to your inbox! i’m still figuring out my writing and what i want to put out on substack, so for a while, most of my stuff will be spontaneous and niche-less. i don’t want to limit myself to a certain genre/niche while there is so much happening in the world, and there is so much i think and want to talk about. i’m also trying to be consistent and regular with my words here, so having you stick around means the world <3

drop a comment and tell me what your summer has been like. surely i’m not the only one having a sad girl summer, instead of a brat girl summer!?