The Summer of ‘98-A Short Story

I remember the summer of ‘98 like it was yesterday. The sun was a relentless tyrant, and the air was thick with the smell of cut grass and dusty sneakers. The neighborhood kids, a motley crew of preteens with scraped knees and boundless energy, spent every waking hour playing street soccer in front of old Mr. Atley’s house. He hated us, and we loved the thrill of annoying him. He was the grumpy Goliath, and we were the plucky Davids, a soccer ball our only sling. The best player on the street was Kevin. He was a year older than the rest of us, with a mop of sandy hair and a cocky grin. He was faster, more agile, and had a way of dribbling the ball that made it seem like an extension of his own foot. He knew it, too, and his constant showboating drove me crazy. I was a decent player, but Kevin always found a way to make me look like a clumsy oaf, stealing the ball from me with a quick flick of his ankle or nutmegging me with a cheeky grin. One day, our game intensified. It was just Kevi...
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Love - Lovers

 

Hand holding usual 

Long walks down pavement a must 

Devouring eyes always 

Doting is certain  

Infatuation of course 

Kissing, touching and cuddling without fail 

 

Minimal arguments if so 

Most days are smiling 

Gentle words a definite 

Thoughtful actions enduring  

Considerate maneuvers a give and take 

 

Tactful feedback expected 

Blindness to faults invariably 

Always forgiving 

Lauding oftentimes  

Assail rarely 

 

Nothing can go wrong 

The world is at peace 

Wading into the sunset 

Desire a lifetime it lasts 

And not a moment too soon 

 

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