I
love summer relationships.
Okay, maybe I specifically love that summer relationship, but I love them all in general too. They’re perfect. The guy is perfect. The weather is perfect. There are no issues, no trust problems, those few hours of seeing each other on occasion that fuel me to live for the whole week. That whole summery skin feeling, how you lay down and feel safe. The random butterfly sailing over you. The grass being the greenest green. The walks that you try your hardest to slow down. The goodbye hugs that, well, you fit right into. The way holding hands isn’t constant because your hands get super warm, but it happens when he drags you across the street or makes you follow him in a bee line through a crowd. How you have that random soundtrack playing in your head when you two are just sitting there. And everything is right where it should be. Nothing goes wrong. Nothing falls out of place. Nothing gets in the way. He looks at you like there’s no one else and never will be. He plans with you like the wedding is next month. All his comments reassure whatever ideas and standards you have planted in your head for the future. You go home with your shirt smelling like him, and you savor it. Not in a weird obsessive way, but in a security way. Everything about him makes you feel better. You have no more cares, no more worries, no more doubts about yourself. Before you would feel worthless, like you couldn’t measure up, and suddenly it’s summer, he’s next to you, and you couldn’t be luckier. I love summer relationships. Even if they don’t always last, the feeling does. It fills the void, and the memories tend to outweigh the pain an ending relationship causes. They’re a form of comfort. They make things a little better.
Breaking my heart yet I miss him eight months later.
It's always these types of seemingly perfect relationships that fade.
no jocking please ):
larukinzi