If this was a book, tonight would be the night we would stay up until 5 in the morning, sitting in a quiet corner somewhere, watching the stars in silence and enjoying each other's company.
If you smoked, you'd pull out a cigarrette and light it up, and you'd smoke it very slowly. Your face would look beautiful under the moonlight, pale and serious, the face of someone who's enjoying something that they know, won't last. I can almost feel the cold on my shoulders and the smell of the smoke mixed with the natural sweet scent of your skin, leaving me breathless, fascinated by your being. If we drank, we would drink until we were just drunk enough to say all those words we're too afraid to say sober. And then, we'd fall in love as we'd fall asleep in each other's arms, and when the cold came to take the warmth of our bodies away in the late night, I'd make us two cups of hot tea to keep our beautiful, twisted, broken souls warm.
And we could read books and tell stories, share old secrets and create new ones.

And by the morning, we would have mended each other.

Image belongs to silvia *mangrovia

It's raining outside. I guess this means summer's over. 
I know some months from now I'll miss the sun, the heat, the crazy beautiful atmosphere summer brings, but right now I feel good about the rain falling in my window.
Summer's over, and so are we. So this is me saying goodbye to two things I really like: summer and you.
And just like will happen with summer, I might miss you some months from now. Maybe even weeks. But then again, this is what I need right now.

I thought the first rain would make me feel... lonely. Forgotten. Make me miss you, make me wish you were here with your arms around me, keeping my body and soul warm.

I was wrong. At least for now. 
Rain didn't bring me pain or nostalgia. It brought me peace, tranquility. It cleaned my spirit from the exhausting memory of you and your sweet lying words I used to overdose on.
Rain is good. Change is good.

So we're fine. There's quite a lot going on in my life right now, but I'm dealing. I don't have you or the summer breeze, but I still have the wilderness of the ocean to make my problems look smaller. I have the wind to clear the sadness from my soul. I have the rain to sing me to sleep and a hot cup of tea to keep my body warm, even if my soul is still frozen. I have good music to remind me that I may feel lonely, but I'm not alone. And I still have a thousand good books waiting for me to read them.

So yeah, I'll be okay. I hope you're happy, I hope you find out there everything you were missing here.

Goodbye summer. Goodbye Peter Pan.

Image from Tumblr

There is something wonderfully sad and dramatic about Peter Pan's story.

We have Wendy, the girl who doesn't want to grow up but knows someday she will since she was two.
She's a thinker, she's conscious. Wants to believe in Peter but is kind of skeptical about his existance, because it's a mistery and it gets hard for her to believe that he is real, not just something she dreamt, not just imagination.

And then we have Peter. The boy who never grew up. The physical existence of joy and youth, a beautiful restless soul who believes in faries and talks to mermaids, fights pirates and knows how to fly. He lives for adventure and refuses to create emotional connections because he thinks it's far better to avoid hurt "by never having loved than to love and lose love".

You are my Peter and I am your Wendy.

You made me feel like an eternal child. You taught me how to fly and I believed in you, in us, despite my skeptical consiousness that we could never be something real. But when we said goodbye, something tragic happened: like when Wendy left Neverland.

And just like Wendy started to grow up, our hearts started to grow apart. And just like Peter forgot about Wendy, you forgot about me. And now I'm starting to forget about you, just like Wendy ended up forgeting about Peter, because it's getting harder and harder for me to believe that what we had was, indeed, real. Everything seems very remote and misty and I'm starting to question if we weren't just something that I made up in my mind. And the sad part is: one day, when Peter remembers Wendy and comes back for her, it's too late. She's a grown up and forgot how to fly. And the same thing is happening to us.


You are my Peter and I am your Wendy. 
And the two of us can make the fairytale look like quite a tragedy.