A lot can happen in three summers.
Three summers, dear.
In three summers, we were built and burnt and risen from ashes.
In three summers, I left and you gave up and we fell in love with a dozen other people.
In three summers, we danced around each other, we completed a full circle and clashed together.
During those summers, you ignored me, I hurt you, we were angry.
During those summers, you wrote me, I missed you, we were miserable.
During those summers, you drank, I smoked, we were lost.
The first summer was the first time we met, the weather was hot and the air was charged.
The first summer was the first time I knew a person could care about a stranger that much.
The first summer was the summer of dreams and hopes, it was the best of all summers.
The second summer was the time we knew what we were made of, you were cool and I was “mysterious.”
The second summer was the time we went places and stayed on each other’s minds.
The second summer was the time I told you I cried and the time you stood by my side.
This is the third summer, and although the weather is scorching, I feel cold.
This is the third summer and we lost ourselves in winter.
This is the third summer and we have died.
We have died because of the first winter, when you waited and I left, when I expected and you disappointed, when I couldn’t decide.
We have died because of the second winter when I felt completely strangled from your side, when we were colder than the slippery icy roads.
We have died because I don’t know if I will see you next winter or not.
Three summers have held us by strings and have held other people to us.
Three summers have made us grow up and grow old.
Three summers have made us realize that the only thing we have after three summers, is us.
I don’t know if our story can hold another summer anymore.
I don’t know if this is the last summer of our summers.
I don’t know if I’ll live to see what happens in our fourth summer.
But I know I’ll have whatever you give,
And if all what we can have is three summers,