I need to get drunk if I'm going to say anything beautiful.
You've proved that on multiple occasions,
the only problem is that I've never been drunk,
and you've never bothered to pay attention to what I had to say.

I wish we had walked together more,
and that we drank lemonade and ran through the sprinklers,
instead of dreaming about being somewhere else.

I remember how wonderful you looked with your hair wet,
and your smile shining whiter than my skin against the summer sky.

I can still hear the sound of your heart beating,
and your breath against my neck as you hugged me
and against my ear as you tried to whisper.

It seems like everything I say is about me,
and it's all just a bunch of memories that are about you,
almost as if without you time had to stop.