The Longest Season

Milan feels different in the heat. The air here doesn’t just warm; it lingers, it sits heavy on your skin, it refuses to move.
Every street feels like it’s wrapped in a blanket of stillness and each step is slower than it should be.

I’m suffering through it, sure, but there’s something odd this year: I don’t feel the heat the way I used to.
I remember summers that used to crush me, years when I would sweat and complain and wish away the days.
Now it’s still exhausting, but somehow less overwhelming.
I can’t tell if it’s my body adapting or my mind simply surrendering.

Dreams of Air Conditioning...

I don’t have air conditioning. That fact alone shapes my summer.
It means the heat isn’t just outside: it follows me home, slips into the walls, stays with me through the night.
Sometimes I find myself daydreaming about a place of our own: our home.
Somewhere we could shape exactly to our needs, with air conditioning humming quietly in the background,
dropping cool air into the room like a whispered promise.

... and its curse

And yet, as much as I crave it, I’ve realized that air conditioning comes with its own strange curse.
In some places, especially public transport, it’s set so low it feels like stepping into a fridge.
This summer, it got me.
Somewhere between the scorching streets and the icebox subways, I managed to get sick: a summer cold.
The kind that makes you sneeze in 33°C weather, which is as absurd as it is miserable.

I’m still recovering, sweating through the heat while wrapped in tissues. What a joy!

But for now there’s just the heat.
The kind that makes you crave a breeze like it’s something rare and precious.
I find myself longing for autumn and winter, the seasons I’ve always loved: cool afternoons, soft light, the quiet that comes after the chaos of summer.

Not a fan

I’ve never been fond of summer.
Partly because my birthday falls right in the middle of it.
As a kid, it always meant my friends were away on vacation and the day felt… emptier.
Growing up, I learned to see it differently.
Now, my birthday is a day for me. No big gatherings, no grand gestures, just quiet.
Time to think, to breathe. To feel at peace with myself.

Still, even on that day, the heat is there. It clings.
It reminds me that summer is relentless, that it doesn’t care for my longing for cooler days.

I wait for the air to change. I wait for the evenings to feel crisp again.
Until then, I move slowly through the haze, searching for patches of shade, counting the days until I can step outside and feel the first real chill of autumn.

What I make out of it

Because in the quiet truth of it all, the seasons are a reminder: nothing stays.
Not the heat, not the cold, not even the heaviness you carry.
Everything passes.
Eventually.