I still remember the first time that I saw Summer. It's as clear in my mind as if it were only yesterday that Greg dragged me along to that stupid house party. I'd consumed too much alcohol before even setting foot in through the door and almost as soon as I was inside someone thrust another generic bottle of beer into my hand. I could barely see straight but somehow I still noticed the purple haired girl; she was stood in the kitchen slowly sipping her drink and quietly observing everyone around her. And me, well, I clearly thought I was the life and soul of the party drunk as Hell and making a complete fool of myself.
I'd tried to convince her to dance with me, but she wasn't having any of it. Not even when I took hold of her hand and gently tugged her wrist in the general direction of the sitting room which was masquerading as a dance floor for one night only. But no matter what I said she was fairly certain that dancing with me was not a good idea. The only thing I succeeded in doing was spilling her drink down my trousers and all over her shoes. I thought she was going to be pissed with me, I mean her shoes were pretty cute, but then all of a sudden she started to laugh. The sound of her laughter seemed to drown out all of the background noise; at that moment, it was as if nothing and no one else existed except for us two.
When she had finally finished laughing at me, she told me her name. "Summer," she'd said and I thought that it was perfect, a beautiful name for the prettiest girl at the party.
For the rest of the night, nothing else did exist, we'd sat on the porch out back alternating between talking and then sitting in silence, but it was one of those comfortable silences. I remember I'd thought to myself that I could sit there all night with her, talking about everything and nothing and stealing glances at her heart shaped face highlighted in the moonlight.
After that night at the party, we became inseparable. It became obvious that despite first impressions, Summer was the most vibrant and fun-loving person that I'd ever met, that I'd ever meet. She could outshine even the brightest of stars.
Which I suppose makes it all worse. Everything that happened. Everything that I did.
Slowly over time, I wore her down. I extinguished the spark. A spark that could never and would never be ignited again.
Sometimes I wonder if it's possible to love someone too much; I think it is. I think we were both guilty of loving each other too much but we had different ways of dealing with it, different ways of showing it. Every day she would tell me that she loved me, she'd do anything to make me happy; "when you're happy, I'm happy," is what she said.
Summer gave her love freely and without any inhibitions and me, well, I was selfish enough to take it offering very little in return. I loved her, of course, I loved her I just didn't show her enough. Didn't tell her every day as I should have. The truth is I would've done anything for her; I would've driven all night just to keep her warm if I had too.
Eventually, it wore her down I wore her down. The time came when all her love was gone spent on someone like me, someone who didn't deserve it. I am someone who never deserves to know the joy and beauty of love again.
She was broken and I was the one who broke her. It was on the first Sunday morning in June that she told me she didn't feel the same anymore. She said that somewhere deep in her heart it was telling her to stay and give me one more chance, but her head was telling her that she needed to leave; she said it was weird but she could almost feel in her bones that it wasn't right. We weren't right.
Space is what she'd said she needed and I gave it to her, I left the house and went to the park, sat on the bench and stared at ducks that she loved to feed so much. And when I'd gotten back home she was gone. There was nothing I could do.
Despite the many months that have passed since that day things haven't gotten any better. Most nights I dream of her; some stupid dream where I am following her through a plethora of dark alleyways and cobbled streets, but just as I am about to put my hand on her shoulder and stop her from walking away she disappears. Chasing after Summer is like chasing the clouds; it's damn near impossible. Some days I wake up with a little bit of hope that she'll come back, but she never does.
If I were to see her again, I would tell her how much I love her, how much I've always loved her. I would say that I am sorry for the way I made her feel, ask her for one more chance and promise that things would be different. What I'd do for one more chance; I think that I'd do almost everything.
This little house that we made our own has almost become my prison, but it's no less than I deserve. And if physically I feel trapped here, it's nothing compared to the emotional torture my brain has to offer me daily. I know she would never come back here, it's not the home that we had lovingly created together; it's not the same place that we planted those sunflowers in the garden in the summer before she left me. Now, the walls of this house are decorated with stories that I can't even begin to explain, similar to the arguments that sprung like leaks without any rhyme or reason. The chipped paint where she threw the vase of flowers that she'd bought for herself at the kitchen wall, the blood stain where I bust my knuckles on the mirror, until that moment I didn't realise my reflection could disgust me so much.
The walls of this house are coloured black and blue with the depressions I've felt since she's been gone.
But I know that soon it will all be over; the depression and loneliness will leave me behind. I will step out of the dark and embrace the light, and when I do, I will see her again. I will see Summer. For so long I've been struggling to hold on, every time my fingertips began to slip I'd panic; scared of falling, but now I'm finally ready to let go.
It feels weird; it's almost like being drunk I guess, my body feels heavy, but my soul light, weightless almost and I know it's my time. I can see her already stood on the hill illuminated by the moonlight; her arms outstretched waiting for me. It's funny how at that moment I don't need to think about where I'm going; it's almost as if my feet know the right direction like this is some well-trodden path that we have taken many times before. With each step I take closer to her, the earth beneath my feet splits wide open and a trail of flames burns brightly blocking the way behind me, even if I had wanted to go back like they keep begging me to, I would never make it.
I can't help but wonder what they will say about me now that I am gone what words they will have engraved into my stone for the eyes of an unborn generation to read long after I have breathed my last. It won't be loving; I could never be accused of that.
I often thought about how long it would be until they forget all about me until I am nothing more than a memory carried on the air of a crisp autumn morning. Soon the day will come when they no longer remember what my face looked like, they'll have to look at a photo, a still frame capturing happier moments frozen in time.
When the only things left are stories to be told.
This has been the story of my life.
And, now the story is finished.
My life is over.
This is just a short story I wrote, loosely based around the lyrics to 'Story Of My Life' by One Direction. Of course, I have no idea what the song is actually about; this is just my interpretation.
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