Oh, the things we would have done at the age I’ve just become in the summer where half the music was dumb. The Nashville purple tint in the four by four pics published on the polaroid app of virtual prints. It’d be showing off all of our friends, but we’d be in separate ends ‘cuz you don’t like to follow trends.

Your silver aviator Ray-Ban I would have stole, then taken about one hundred selfies from your phone. The same ones you would’ve almost deleted, and yet decided to postpone. Our friends would’ve try to leave us alone, but that’s when your heart would’ve turned to stone. Why can’t you just act normal?

They would’ve confessed Tiffany broke your heart, she’s was your real classic Barbie. Blonde, green eyes and with a beauty mark, almost drained your bank account with her obsession with Versace. Did you always kind of fall for the blondes? Did you think she truly fell in love with you when you bought her that Pandora charm?

In the age of pick me Tumblr girls, she was one of your “forget me” lovers. One of them was bound to stand out from the others. Andrea was the lucky one who miraculously received your flowers, the same girl I would’ve seen you with at your best friend’s baby shower.

On the 4th of July, Andrea would’ve hated your guts cause I’m the one who makes you smile with a little blush. Your red, white and blue t-shirt would’ve screamed patriotic, and I would’ve proudly lost my freedom for a little taste of your chaotic. Isn’t it ironic how we pretend we’re just platonic?

Fireworks, candles, and a crying Andy, you’re rushing to her side as I open another bottle of Brandy. Karaoke, BBQ, and a sour fight, it’s maddening to think all of your friends were right.

Andrea would’ve dumped you after witnessing our firecrackers spike as we fought like little kids over who gets the mic. We would’ve sang our favorite Paramore song, then switched to Cristian, Luis and Elmer too. You would’ve rolled your eyes at «You Belong…», because every part sang was inarguably dedicated to you. And it would’ve been hard to pretend my heart didn’t skip a beat when you sang to me “Por amarte así”.

By that time we would’ve been both twenty seven. I ponder at the real present, hoping that in one multiverse we would be past the non-explicit tension. For all I imagine, in this one the radio station would’ve been non-stop talk of the Y2K reminisce, and people would’ve been either scared, or sealing their love with one last kiss.

From my blog I would’ve written you one last letter, saying these final words in case they got lost forever:

“So if the world is about to end, can we be more than friends? If the prophecy is coming true, can I finally have you? If we only have one more sunset, can we finally live with no regret? If this is the last time I’m seeing you alive, can we not say goodbye?”