what would you do if you weren't afraid?

the lemonade isn't mixed well,

every drink different.

every drinker using their own method.

some take my ice,

chew through it.

I hope the chill helps them.

I'm sorry about the funk.

some get a mouthful of the sourest lemon juice.

they don't often drink much.

some get too much sugar.

they say my lemonade will put holes in them.

cavities.

expose them to rot.

others find where the chill hasn't reached.

or maybe once was but now has long gone.

they call it tepid.

bland.

thought it'd be cooler.

many of my friends remind me again and again,

they enjoy my lemonade.

they're happy to enjoy from my cup while they can.

their words encourage me to keep making it.

I add a secret ingredient.

a bit of me.

or... what was part of me anyways.

it's not me anymore.

it left my body.

I am affected by the overbright sun.

you may be thinking sweat.

you're definitely not wrong if you are.

I cannot help but melt and drip.

behind my sunglasses, I squint.

try to retain my water as tears well up.

but I need to see.

eyelids are not strong dams.

the tears are brought out by the light.

but the tears source themselves from sadness.

have you ever seen a fruitless tree being watered with a cup of lemonade?

I have.

I yearn for shade.

for the heat to be over.

for the season to change soon.

autumn come, I beg you.

I watch the shade trees being cut down around me.

so they can be burned.

endless summer growth.

all the while, my ice is melting profusely.

it's too goddamn hot.