I dream of the beach.
White, hot sand.
Crashing blue water.
Broken shells and softly worn stones.
The scent of coconut, echoed by Tom Ford, drifts on the breeze.
A cocktail with a wonderfully-cheesy little umbrella awaits on land.
The pile of books garnered for the summer gradually dwindles.
Sunglasses shade sleepy eyes, and a gauzy white wrap whips around in the wind.
We hold onto summer for dear life.
