A thousand summers.

I couldn't remember the last time I had ever run across a field of lavender, hand in hand with a friend. I guess I never did. That's why I couldn't remember. But today I was running freely, despite the fact that I couldn't see. My hand in his. Heavenly. There was the purple-covered land my eyes might never feast upon, and there was the bluest painted sky I had only heard of, but there was the present, and there was also him – whose heartbeats I could hear from where I stand, and that was all that mattered.

Suddenly his grip on my hand tightened, and he pulled me closer, his warm breaths against my cheek and the smell of his cologne thickened in the air, to whisper, 'I wish time would stop now, at this moment, when I am still in control of myself and the madness you have driven me to, so I could be silently crazy about you for all eternity. But it won't ever, and I'd be crazy about you anyway as long as I'm still breathing, I'm sorry if this will break your heart, I promise to God I'll mend it flawless, I promise to God I'd keep it safe.'

And his lips met mine for a thousand summers.