Fuck you.
Do you have any inkling of how it feels to be yanked from everything you've ever known? How it feels to be plucked from the earth by a twister and thrown to another land?
You've always been my summer storm, so bitterly destructive yet so vital and beautiful.
I hate you.
I love you.
There will always be this yawning chasm between us that we can never bridge.
You'll forever be repenting, and I'll forever be scorning.
We can't live like this, always resenting and loathing and torturing. We'll tear each other apart.
But we can't live without each other either.
Let's start over. I want to be the girl on the street corner, and I want you to be the boy walking by, as both of their eyes lock and slide past memorizing every feature. Maybe—but there's no time for that. Only by forgetting everything can we be together.
Maybe then the air will finally smell like spring.