A voice speaks. It’s August, with you, on summer vacation.
Ten years ago, a little before that, back when I had a nickname.
Summer has arrived again, and so I glanced back at the past.

At 22 I am, compared to you at 22, having a less ‘22’ summer.
And that holofoil card that you gave to me, I will stamp on your back.
Right away I will.

And so here I’ve come, to the bus stop, meeting with you in my short-sleeves.
“I wanna go home,” is my real desire. Just decline the invite, you gutless freak.
Summer has arrived again, and so I find myself eavesdropping in.

“Please just be over already,” I beg from my bike’s basket,
Killing my boredom as I start riding.
And now as I’m 22, I think back to your silhouette that day,
And how fast I sprinted after your back, but still never reaching you.

If, from the shoe rack, I take my shoes and put them on,
To stimulate that feeling of being a size misaligned…
And I still might chase you down as fast as I can,
Since as ever, I’m here, and I haven’t changed.
You know what, I hate you, so there!!

It’s my summer at 22. And “Totally worthless,”
Is what I think every time the sunlight’s pools shine upon me.
Summer has arrived again, so I try going out for a bit
As if to chase and catch up to your back.

At 22 I am, compared to you at 22, having a less ‘22’ summer.
And that holofoil card that you gave to me, I will stamp on your back.
Right away I will.