It's that kind of day. The clouds are overcast and the air is cool and open, perfect for the short-sleeved white cardigan and the keyhole tank I threw on to meet a friend for brunch.

I was alone, and picking up a hot coffee, and walking back in my shorts and my flip flops, and I realized that the weather outside was every cool summer morning I'd yearned for from home since I started recognizing how beautiful they were. It was cool out and I shut my eyes and I remembered all those youthful mornings where the moss was rising and I could smell the dew on the ground. My flip-flops made the same song on that sidewalk outside my home every time they pounded it.

Summer has got to be one of the most beautiful times. I just keep imagining the nights that drag on and the loud car rides, the teenage angst rising into the clouds as if nothing could ever stop those dreams.

We're ambitious and young, and we can only party once.