In the summer, you discover a feeling of foreign bliss–
Yet, familiar limerance.
And you begin to question if you even know yourself.
Where did these feelings come from and where do they stay?
What does it mean,
this new shade of purple?
How do these feelings come so quickly and leave just as easily?
In the dog days you feel something new, yet well-known.
Something all of the poets have died for before.
And it makes you reasses yourself in this light.
But what if this is who you have always been?