There was a time when I wanted to be just one of the boys of summer, whatever that might mean, and it’s meant something different with each passing year. I am very clearly no longer a boy, and haven’t been for quite some time. My childhood withered decades ago, probably much earlier than my physical appearance would have anyone guess. I’ve felt like a very old soul since I first became aware of myself. It’s part of why childhood proved so seemingly difficult for me: relating to other kids was never easy, because I never truly felt like a kid. I never had that carefree confidence because I always knew, on some level, how very different I was from the other kids. That makes you grow up quickly. That makes you old even when you’re not. 

I can see you
Your brown skin shining in the sun
I see you walking real slow and
Smiling at everyone
I can tell you, my love for you will still be strong
After the boys of summer have gone

These days I feel a little more tired and weary than usual, a state in which I’ve uncomfortably become more comfortable, for worse and far from better. I see it in this picture, and more keenly I feel it within my own body and mind. Approaching the age of 49, I don’t mind growing older – it feels like I’m coming more and more into my own, that this long journey is just starting to make a little sense – but it still takes its toll. There are days when it’s exhausting, when the business of being who the world thinks I am – the person I’ve made the world think I am – feels overwhelming, and I just don’t want to do it. 

Then I think back to when I was a boy. If I could do it then – unprotected, untried, unknown to my own self – how could I not do it now? Or at the very least, how could I not try?

A little voice inside my head said
“Don’t look back, you can never look back”
I thought I knew what love was, what did I know?
Those days are gone forever
I should just let them go but…

The battle for the sky, and so many other things, is often fought by blue and pink. Lately my money’s been on the pink – it’s a coquette summer after all. Here we have a bit of a draw – in song and appearance – and the wistful sense of longing inherent in such a post speaks directly to our coquette theme. True blue, baby, I love you. 

At the moment we are hurtling toward another full moon – and many of us are most definitely feeling it. Lunacy is real y’all. Luna is the moon, and you are all lunatics. It’s ok. So am I. Let’s have our moon madness, harnessing its often-frantic energy and driving it like one of those sand worms in a damn ‘Dune’ movie. 

Oh dear. This was supposed to be a calming and peaceful post. But when the skies are unsettled, pretty though they may be, the heart and head feel unsettled too. 

Let us return to the sweetness of this song then, originally made famous by Madonna – which reminds me we are long overdue for the next Madonna Timeline installment. Any requests? Just kidding, I don’t take requests for that, other than what the random shuffle feature deigns to land on next. Does this sound as crazy as I think it does? Don’t tell me. I already know.

So if you should ever doubt, wonder what love is all about, just think back and remember dear, those words whispered in your ear…

The coquette aesthetic wilts in the high heat we’ve had of late, but also lends its own cooling power to the proceedings. The underlying melancholy of this coquette summer cuts through the hot and humid stretches, dousing the fire with tears of healing and compassion – the tears of having to grow up, even at the ripe age of almost-49. One more year to fifty. 

I’ll be your baby
There’s nothing better I’d rather do
I’m lost completely
I might as well be over the moon

I’d like it if you tried
Before you change my mind
Are you gonna be here with me
I know you better

The perfume of the pink lily is potent – exceedingly floral and cloying in its sweet richness. It’s a lot to take, especially on the hotter days. But that’s the sort of whoozy, dizzying, decadent indulgence that personifies the coquette notion – something sweet and nostalgic, that is somehow too much and never enough at the same time. The coquette lifestyle is pretty but too often unsatisfying – tantalizingly out of reach – an obsessive state of longing and unfulfilled promise.

This momentary ride
This fire by my side
Are you gonna be here with me
You know that

I’ll be your baby
There’s nothing better I’d rather do
I’m lost completely
I might as well be over the moon

Pink moods, mirrored and mimicked by lilies and clouds at sunset, run deceptively deep. At first sight and sensation, they may feel frivolous and foolish, something to be dismissed or denied – the very impetus of what drives the melancholy of a coquette moment – but how surprisingly resonant they remain, outlasting the ephemeral and fleeting nature we think we know.

The pink lilies glow as the night arrives, but only if the moon is present, which brings out the lighter shading of their throats. On warmer nights, the perfume becomes deliriously potent, an intoxicating lure for all creatures seeking sweetness and beauty. It is the sigh of a summer evening. 

You call me up at night
Imaginary lines
Are you gonna go back to sleep
I know you better
Than you know yourself
I’m only saying play your hand with someone else (someone else)
Don’t tell me how to be your baby
There’s nothing better I’d rather do
I’m lost completely
I might as well be over the moon
I might as well be over the moon