A collection of Youtube Comments

Thinking of our summer love story in France

POV: You are back at university in New York City, writing a letter you will never send to the boy you fell in love with during your summer term abroad in the French countryside

                                                                                                  ---

 Even though I knew that it would end the minute I stepped onto that plane, I have never fallen so hard for a boy. Even now, in my New York apartment, with the sounds of cars outside so loud that I cant even hear the small television in the corner, I can close my eyes and bring myself back to last summer. 

 Do you remember how we would sit on the edge of those sandy bluffs south of your house? How our feet would dangle over the edge, where there was a straight drop down to sharp rocks. We would sit there for hours at a time, soaking up the sun, and looking out at the water. It is funny to me, now, how we could stay in one place, for so long, and not get bored. Maybe it was because of the seagulls nests, how everyday the baby seagulls would creep to the edge of their nest, standing precariously on the edge, readying the selves for the jump they will eventually have to make. Or maybe it was our own sense of exhileration that brought us back. The way sitting so close to an easy death, where all we had to do was rock forward ever so slightly, and we would drop to to the slick, weather sharpened rocks below. Maybe it wad that we just enjoyed each others company. However, whatever the reason, it was our 'spot'. Wasn't it?

It was where you first kissed me. I remember how surprised I was when I felt your hand on my chin, turning my face to yours. How you hesitated, with your green-gray eyes looking at my lips, before looking up to my eyes. And then you leaned in, ever so slowly, never looking away from me. It was my first kiss, ever. I don't think I ever told you that, though. That fact would explain why, like I had been shocked, I recoiled away from you when I first felt your lips brush mine. I don't know why I did that, but I can remember how quickly your nervous hopefulness had turned to embarrassment - how a blush glowed across your lightly freckled, tanned cheeks, working its way all the way up your face. You had started to say sorry, and were turning to leave, when again, I mindlessly reacted. I sort of flung myself at you, awkwardly pulling you back down, and then without thinking, I kissed you. It was the first time I experienced time travel with you, because when we finally stopped, a few seconds later it seemed, the midday sun was touching the ocean, showering everything in a warm, orangey glow, and the moon was shining happily above us. It was the first of many, for whenever we got the chance to slip away we would come to this spot. Getting to know each other less and less with words, and more and more through - other ways - .

 And then there were the times we weren't alone. You had these little things that you would do that made me feel like the luckiest girl in the world. I remember one of the bigger of the parties we went to, a bonfire. It was the middle of July, and most of the locals had seen me around, but I was still an abnormality; an exotic and potentially dangerous animal. Whenever I tried to join a conversation, everybody would stop what they were talking about, and one by one excuse themselves to go somewhere else. Of course, I didn't want to seem clingy, so I did my best to work the crowd. But you could tell. And suddenly, your arms were around my waist and you were carrying me on your shoulder. Running into the cool ocean, before dropping me into the shallows, and sending sprays of salty water at me. It was perfect, and all of my previous qualms were forgotten as we played around. It wasn't long before everybody was splashing around, and by the end of the night, I was no longer the strange new girl. 

 But it has been months since I have heard form you, and I am not a fool. A summer fling is a summer fling, and nothing more. And as to why I am writing this un-sendable letter? I couldn't tell you.