I consider last summer the happiest I've ever been. Memories of last summer are afternoons spent lying between cool grass and warm sunshine, long walks at sunset, dreaming of you at night. Maybe I was being naive, but I had a lot of hope in you. I assumed you would make me even happier, that you could do nothing but build me up--make me a better person.
It fucking sucks to be wrong, but I guess we can't all live in a dream forever, huh?
We live in this world where we all go around thinking that we're history in the making. Above average. Special. Can you believe it? We're taught to be this stupid. It's like some sort of societal paradox. I guess I have you to thank then. After eighteen years of lies and inflated egos, I finally met someone who was honest with me. We can't all be special--that completely undermines the meaning of the word. As statistics would have it, I'm average. And that's fine! Isn't it? It should be. Tons of people live happy, average lives. I should be able to do the same. I should. But I can't. Something inside of me is just not okay with being average. My life needs to have some sort of meaning, but no matter how hard I try I can't break down this wall of grey and cliche.
Just give it back--please. Clearly I can't get by without my innocence and childlike sense of wonder. I thought I could revive it on my own, or at least trick myself into thinking I still had it. But you took it from me, all of it. And now I can't restore it in any way whatsoever. I keep going through the motions of last summer: staring at the glowing white moon, wandering until the sun retires, watching children laugh in the park. The experience is so confusing because it feels just like last summer, but my optimism, my hope, and my faith are all gone. The world around me hasn't changed; the picture looks just the same. But I'm different now. Broken. Because of you. And it sucks.
I don't know where to go from here. The only thing I can think of is going back to last summer--before I met you. But that's impossible, huh?