Summertime Sadness..?

I feel so old. I want to be young and happy again. So hopeful, so innocent.
You know that time, when we all were friends? Back when a laugh was just a big merry laugh? Back when we couldn’t stay angry at anybody?
I want to fly there. I want to close my eyes and I want to appear right at that moment as I open them again. Is it too much to ask for? Are we, or am I, too late?
I miss you like I miss the summers of my childhood. A pure longing for a time of nonchalance and happiness.
I didn’t know what certain things meant back then. Hell, I probably cannot even comprehend lots right now, either. What I can fully grasp is my desire to get all of it back. The things that I’ve lost. Where did they go? I wonder every night.

Nobody feels the same. I just can’t make it happen. Lingering on a ghost of a person. That’s so me. It’s so you.

What happens when you feel like you won’t and cannot talk to the one person who managed to actually understand you in the past?
What happens to the people we used to be when future comes? Do they die?

"And I realised, with tears in my eyes, that love is a lie."


How do some people do it? How do they love themselves?

I was good at being skinny. I don’t even have that anymore.

"But we can’t know better until knowing better is useless."

John Green (Looking for Alaska)

"(…) And yet I felt it, the nervous warmth of touching —a pale reflection of fireworks of one mouth on another, but a reflection nonetheless."

John Green (Looking for Alaska)


Being in love. I remember how that feels. So vaguely, though. As if it were somebody else’s memory that I once listened to. Although recalling every moment is rather impossible, I have the scent of that feeling in my heart. Buried deep, in a confused denial.

Excitement, self-consciousness. Those famous butterflies fluttering in your stomach, giving you an unprecedented high. High, yes. Love is an addiction, too after all. The most dangerous one, if you ask me. You can break alcohol bottles and cigarettes but a broken heart is not so easy to replace. It never lets you be the same person again; it steals from you something no one can put a finger on. 

In this several billion year-old world, not a single human chose who they fell in love with. Nor shall I. That scares me a bit, that ambiguity. 

Will I ever fall in love again? You’re so young, people laugh at me, so young… Why don’t I feel like that? 

Oh, sweet reminiscence.