From here on out, it’s always cold. Sunshine on the beach? I’m shivering. Ninety degrees and high humidity? Still icy on the inside. From now on, every summer is still winter. You’ll haunt every May, June, July, August, and September. The nights on the tailgates and the afternoons holding hands at the fair. It’s all frozen over. It was all sweaty palms, tanlines, and messy curly hair. But now? No. Now it’s just a snowbank of memories I love and hate and can’t ever forget. Eighty-one degrees with sun today, but you’re still the early October freeze that sent everything reeling into regret.