The three freckles under his squinted eye remind me of connect-the-dot pictures, the smile he loosely throws hits me like hail, like fire. His fingers are flat and round and speak volumes. They whisper: I hold you close because it is dangerous to cross a street alone. He explains, how futile your optimism is in the summer. On the first day of school these rubber erasers, pink and fresh, like promises, give way to the grubbier sandpaper forms of well-worn school supplies. As soon as class starts, they cave in like martyrs, like saints. It’s starting to smell like summer, It hits me when I think about him, and I’m worried, I’m concerned, he might forget me come the snow. Any thoughts/comments/criticisms would be greatly appreciated. Especially on the title, since I've had a hard time deciding on one. Thank you!