I miss those marks I left in your neck.

I miss them and all the stories you came up with just so your grandparents wouldn't find out what really caused them.

I miss saying how cute you are just to piss you off.

I miss saying you're cute in hopes you would never realize the handsome young man you are.

I miss how my bottom lip used to get sore from your aggressiveness.

I miss feeling your hunger in my mouth.

You used to taste like summer. 

But it's already winter where you are.

You're enjoying the snow, aren't you? 

You went all the way there for it, didn't you?

It's summer here.

It became summer the moment the airplane I was in landed.

And it's been summer ever since.

Here, it still tastes like summer. It still tastes like you.

The other day, as I walked on the street, a 4 year old boy was waving and screaming, from inside a bus, at his friend, a boy walking in front of me.

I heard it for 3 seconds, until the bus moved forward, but I'm very sure the boy kept screaming, since we could still see his open mouth aiming at us from the window.

The boy in front of me didn't seem to bother anymore. He waved once and kept walking after the screams became inaudible.

The boy inside of the bus, though, I have a feeling he kept screaming.

I have a feeling he kept screaming until he met his friend again.

I have a feeling he kept screaming even after his voice was over.