The time you spent $87 to win me the stuffed animal I wanted at the county-fair basketball shoot.
The time I made you wear flip-flops even though you didn’t want to, and we laughed about it for hours.
The time you held me tight because the Ferris wheel got stuck at the top and I got scared.
The way would would never wear a stitch of clothes indoors all summer and stand in front of the air conditioner to let the cold air blow all over our bodies.
The time you drove me 300 miles to the ocean for the weekend because you know I have an unwritten rule that I have to swim in water at least once every summer.
The time you were showing off for me at the motel swimming pool and dove in the water too vigorously, scraping a good slice of skin off your nose from the bottom of the pool.
How you love the loud chorus of crickets and locusts late at night on a hot summer night.
The way we both love the smell of wet sidewalk cement after a summertime thunderstorm.
The time I got such a bad sunburn that my skin peeled, and you saved it in an envelope that you doused in my perfume.
The way only your left arm gets color in the summer because you hold it out your car window while driving.
The time I sat in your lap to watch a bluegrass band as dandelion petals floated through the warm early summer air.
The way we both love hot weather and hate cold weather. We are both butterflies in summer and caterpillars in the winter.
The time when we walked barefoot holding hands through a field of corn that was taller than we were and you suddenly grabbed me, held me close, and whispered “I love you” in my ear.
The time you let me have the last piece of watermelon.
The time last Labor Day when we argued all night until at 3AM and you stomped out of my apartment, slammed the door shut, and I heard your car tires peeling away and I never saw you again.