Too Late for Titles

I love fall more than any other season, but this year, it's too cold, too fast. Summer was important, but summer still feels incomplete, and I was counting on the heat lingering into September. I don't know why, exactly. I have one or two summer dresses that didn't get their fair share of use, there are lakes I haven't swum in, and with the empty, boring spaces of a laid-back summer came a refreshing, carefree feeling I don't have that often, even if those empty, boring spaces were surrounded by obligations and the pressure of the future. And now it's cold, and I do have to plan for the future, but I want warm weather to continue the illusion of freedom.

I've got several mostly-finished posts about summer that are nearing their expiration dates, and maybe I'll get them up soon. Lately I can't bring myself to care about this. Everything I write wants to be too introspective and boring for the internet, but I try to steer myself toward entertainment and in the process, prevent myself from really thinking. So, we'll see. I like writing in this blog, but I've lost momentum. I have an almost crippling need for things to be in order and complete, so I don't want to just surrender August up to unchronicled oblivion, but at the same time, August is done. I write this blog in the present.

The present involves a lot of this:

And a lot of this:

We just can't stop ourselves from calling it anything besides making out.