The Melancholic Summer

The summer embraced the city with suffocating heat, but my heart was as cold as a dark winter night. I sat on the balcony, watching people pass by indifferently, feeling the loneliness wrap around me like a heavy cloak. How long had it been since I tried to get over you? How many tears had I shed remembering every moment we lived together?

“Why is this happening to me?” I whispered to myself as I watched the sun slowly set, painting the sky in shades of orange and red.

I spent my time crying over and over, living through summer days as if they were a long, unending winter. I left my friends behind, unable to bear sitting with them anymore; casual conversations had lost their flavor.

Once, I decided to confront you. I remember how our last meeting was filled with tears and deceit. You were crying, but I knew those tears weren’t real. “Was it all just an act?” I asked you then, but you didn’t answer; you just looked at me with your eyes void of any emotion.

In my mind, the memories played on a loop, like an endless video tape. I needed those moments back, but I knew they wouldn’t return. The time we spent together seemed like a mirage to me, something distant and unreachable.

I started to feel lost; everything around me seemed meaningless. “I hope this is nothing, I hope it’s nothing,” I kept telling myself, trying to believe that all this pain would go away. But the truth was harsher; we were wasting our time in vain. We had nothing to say to each other; only silence sat between us as an insurmountable barrier.

One day, I decided to break out of that whirlpool. I went out into the crowded streets, looking for anything to distract my mind from thinking about you. I saw children playing, lovers strolling, but all these images brought me nothing but more sadness.

“I wasted half my summer trying to hold your hand,” I told myself, remembering every time I tried to get close to you and every time you moved away as if I were a plague to avoid.

“You are the parasite, and I am the man,” I said out loud one day, but no one was there to hear. I believed that love could overcome everything, but I was wrong.

Yet, you always told me, “Yes, you can,” as if trying to convince me of something I no longer believed in.

As time passed, I realized we were wasting our time again. We had nothing to say, only silence spoke for us. “I hope this is nothing, I hope it’s nothing,” I repeated to myself once more, but this time the voice was weaker, more fading.

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