In June

We wrote our names in black sharpie on the ceiling that night
It was the first time in a while, that our sins didn’t scare us

For nothing really matters in June
And we danced on the roof top

Laughing at the rain
Drenching our souls with sweet tea instead of the smell of stale liquorice

It was about time, too
That we just stood still

And watched the silent gray smoke climb out of the old stone chimneys and into the clouds
Looking down at the cracked pavement, as we plucked weeds between our toes

It was like we had never really seen our silhouettes
For we were scared of our reflections

But fog wipes out all lingering traces of fear
And soon
It didn’t matter anymore
For nothing really matters in June.

—By Sophie Sharp