Wishing for Summer

I'm so scared.

Scared of the future, scared of reality, and I don't know what to do about it.

My mom tells me to pray, but I was never good at those trust exercises. Y'know, the ones where you fall backwards into another's arms and they wonder for a split second whether it would be funny or not to let you fall.

Don't worry, don't worry. I'll catch you.

I keep wishing for summer. It has to be better, right?

I breathe in the air filled with life, smelling of newborn grass, and it give me life back.

And sometimes I think that I can't be that lucky.

How,
                                           how,
                               
                                                                             how did I get this lucky?

I hear it all the time.

You're lucky you knew them at all, you're lucky to be alive. I get it. That's that problem.

What do I do when the luck runs out? When there's no more flowers to pick, when the horizon stops, when I take my last breath?

I'll just stop, I suppose.

And I'm terrified.