A Summer in Suburbia

By Christina Flores-Chan



You wrote a verse about the summer we spent together

I hate the way I recognized myself in your lyrics

Hearing your voice for the first time in six months raised goosebumps on my arms

It might be the broken heater in this apartment though, I don’t know

You sang about how my touch gave you chills even under the sweltering sun

I’m sorry I never warned you about my bad blood circulation

I’m sorry I was the coldest part of that summer

When the memory of holding your hand, the night sky collapsing over us, burns through my skin

I still listen to your music with Spotify’s private session on

It’s snowing in the city and I don’t want anyone to know that I still think about you when I sit by the fireplace, fingers looming over the flames