It seems that I'm destined to have that one, stupid part of me, hate summer.
It's that same part of me that enjoys your presence. I am thinking about the long, lonely summer even before I leave you, because I have grown from the girl I was last year, and I now understand the magnitude of what not being able to see someone is. I gave you one last hug before we went our separate ways, and I found it a blessing that our paths crossed once more, if only to give me enough time to give you a second hug.
Of course, you are not him. And when I texted you that night to tell you that the marker you used to write your name on my arm in glows under black light, you turned the conversation into an expression of how important I am to you, I'll admit; that made me happy.
I know I laughed at you for you telling me you missed me already, considering it had been less than seven hours since we'd seen each other. But the truth is, I started missing you way before that.