I thought I loved summer. But it’s actually just you.
I thought I loved warmth and sunshine. It’s you.
It’s hard to admit loneliness, but it’s not hard saying I want to be with you.
I love summer. With you.
I love warm nights in the city. With you.
I love you. With me.
But you’re not. We’re not.
Probably never will be.
Still a girl can dream.
About holding hands and strolling through crowds on an endless summer night.
About talking and laughing. Lots of laughing.
About sitting side by side, not saying anything.
About slinging an arm around your neck and containing a ridiculous smile while trying to whisper into your ear how much I love you. And need you.
Or I can picture us walking under star-filled skies – the lights so big and bright you can almost touch them.
I picture us kissing by the moonlight.
Running in torrents of rain.
Hiding from the crashes and rumbles of thunderous summer storms.
I have my own version of violence. With you.
But don’t mind me.
I’ve learned to laugh at myself.
And I’ll be fine. Without you.