When I was fifteen I gave my heart to a boy who had a world inside his eyes, a boy who made me forget I carried universes in my fingertips.

When I was seventeen I told myself I knew better and took pictures of the world I made for myself and promised to share them with whom I loved next, share them but never give them.

When I was seventeen I told myself that boys, were sons of winter; of cloudy skies and freezing storms. So I surrounded myself with flowers and ran from the cold.

When I was seventeen I told myself I knew better, but when I was seventeen I didn’t know of summer boys. Boys who instead of worlds in their eyes, carried suns on their shoulders. Boys who will talk of the universe in your fingertips and paint your beauty like a masterpiece. Boys that will make you feel complete, so that when they leave, you may never feel whole again.