It’s the summer after we both have turned eighteen. The summer after our high school years have come to an end. The summer before we go to college, but… that’s in one week.

One week. I have seven days to make memories before we part ways. I’m going to Fordham, and you’re going across the country. In one week our teenage lives as we knew them will be over. In one week, you’ll be gone. I’ll be alone.

It’s the thought that comes to my mind as I roll down the window to your car and rest my head on the door. The cool night wind drags its heavy fingers through my hair and combs it backwards. It presses refreshingly against my cheeks, it whispers in my ear.

I should say something, shouldn’t I? If you’re gonna be leaving soon, and I’m so desperate to make memories. But I have no idea what to say.