Summer seems to be so far away...
I miss the smell of flowers, of grass, of strawberries and cherries. Even the sun has a smell; dusty, warm and lovely as it shines on your back, leaving shadows where your clothes are.
I miss the sound of whistling birds, the rustling of papers being turned, the screams of children in the cool water.
I miss sitting in the garden with a glass of sparkling wine, reading a book, feeling the sun warming your shoulders.
In my head, it's warm. I'm sitting in the sun in France, hearing the sound of the sea with sand between my toes. I'm sitting in the garden, having a barbecue party with my friends. I'm sitting on the porch, drinking tea with the ladies.
And at night, we are lying in bed together, clammy because of the heat, waiting for the thunder and the rain to refresh the day.
In my mind, the school year is over and we have all the time of the world to do what we want.
We sing, we dance, we swim and we lie down in the grass.
We travel, we see the world, and at the end, we come home and tell stories.
It's sweet, coming together at the end of the summer.
It's good to see how we changed and still are the same.
How we grew, experienced, saw.
How we remembered, missed and came back to our own lifes eventually.
Because there's nothing like home...
And after a few weeks, a few months, we all are together in class again, talking, laughing and having fun.
But I think that time is over when this school year ends.
There are new things waiting for us.
University, new cities, new friends.
Living on your own, going to college, becoming indepentant.
Growing up...
But before that time, we'll go through some things together. And even when we have parted, we still will be together. At least, in my mind we will.
'Cause in my mind, there is an eternal end of Summer...
With love,
Kirsten
I can still recall our last summer, I still see it all.
Walks along the Seine, laughing in the rain,
Our last summer, memories that remain.
We made our way along the river
And we sat down in the grass by the Eiffel tower.
I was so happy we had met, it was the age of no regret, oh yes.
Those crazy years, that was the time of the flower-power.
But underneath, we had a fear of flying,
Of getting old, a fear of slowly dying.
We took the chance like we were dancing our last dance
I can still recall our last summer, I still see it all
In the tourist jam, round the Notre Dame
Our last summer, walking hand in hand
- ABBA -
