The Warmth of Summer

It was summer of 2011. The April sun was blistering over my face. I waited desperately to avail of time and significant moment. There was some moment of awe, some period of boredom, of silence and deep breaths. All I got was nothing, but just that presence in that four-wheeled, rugged machine, makes me feel I have had another memory to keep. At least, I have known this to myself for so long - some friend who's there to cling to. I would have wanted to keep it steady. A friendship that never ends. As warm as that summer. As sincerely white and pure as that yacht paint color. As secure as laid on that mean machine. As comfy in that quiet afternoon joyride. But never as boring as how muted we can be. Never speak our hearts' out. Dead silence. Alive breathing. So naive. Insecure.