Your hair smells like summer at the sea. It smells of better days, days long gone now. Those days were filled with promises and sun-bleached skin. The nights were filled with getaway drives down the boulevard with the windows down and the world in our ears. The roads stretched in front of us like metaphors for our lives, empty and moonlit, silent and still, so beautiful that we believed for a moment that nothing would ever change. We carved our names, our dreams into the curve of the mountainside. The crash of the ocean, rhythmical and constant, formed the backdrop to the photographs in our minds. We sang with all our might. We sang for each other and for ourselves. We sang for the past and for the future. We sang just for the simple sake of feeling the world vibrate with our presence. We were moving fast. We were unstoppable, indestructible, and so alien in our beauty. It was ours. It was all ours. We were pushing the boundaries between life and death, but never stopping to look at the ground below. Now the tightrope sits above a bed of nails and we've stopped looking up to see what's coming next. Instead, we spend all our time gazing into the rear-view mirror at the road behind us. But your hair smells like summer at the sea. It smells like a memory, like a possibility, like change.