You held me close, my body shaking as you kissed my forehead and we rocked back and forth under the stars. The summer air cooling down to allow a slight breeze as you whispered sweet nothings to me, trying to make us both feel better. Desparation radiated off of our entwined bodies and tears fell from dry eyes as we forgot momentarily how lonely the world can be.
Now I drive a car down a road, sunny skies before and a coffee in one hand. I talk about work, schedules, bills, but you're in the back of my mind like a stain. I can hear your words and smell your body. I know it's been years but you never went away.
We used to dance under the stars, your lips on mine as we twirled and twirled. Music playing from the car radio was our anthem, songs about summer love and short romances. Ironically we sang along off key, holding hands and still swirling on those summer nights. You told me you loved me as we sat on the hood of your car.
I cried to you about so many things, you knew me better than anyone. At the consequences of our ending I found myself becoming and open book, making sure you weren't the only one who knew me so intimtely. Such a shattering end to a perfect fling, you and I. You ran out and I became a different person.
I met your doppleganger in the street once. They became my friend. A faint imitation of who I once knew, just not as funny, and not as close.
I don't love you, I never did. But somehow you're a stain on my memory. It's not like people don't compare to you, I've met better and cuter, funnier. But the way we were is something that haunts me still. To quote Fall Out Boy, "you're my favorite what if, my best I'll never know,"
The summer sun snaps me back to reality as the song on the radio ends and your memory begins to fade again. I take a sip of my coffee and drive on as usual.