What is the Endless Summer? Is it the last of our childish illusions, thinking that those moments–sitting on the sand and watching the waves–will never end? Is it a holiday we convince ourselves will last forever, at a time that we are at our most vital, all of our potential yet coiled up in us like a fiery serpent?
Or, is it Endless by virtue of memory? Is it the summer we will never forget? The sand and the blue and the clouds and the blue. Friends made and lost along that stretch of shore, people we may never see again.
Or, is it the Always Summer, that feeling that we get when we sit upon another beach in another time in another place, grown. Is it a loop that connects the old to the new and unites them; is the Endless Summer merely a romantic, sun-drenched reflection on life?
Every beach is the same beach, connected to one another by the surging tides and the waves and the gravitational force of the moon hanging low in the sky. Perhaps the Endless Summer is not a thing, but a place; a place that we have been, a place that we may still go, a dream.