Good art can come from sadness, but there is power in happiness that I know I need to fight for and return to.
Last summer is the past I want to repeat-
I am Gatsby, in this wish, and I pray that it can be done.
Because now I am nowhere near the unadulterated joy that befell in those glorious days.
I must repeat that-
It was the crest of a high and beautiful wave and we were the hippies.
And now I am the writer, entirely alone at her typewriter.
Jaded, bitter, nostalgic, longing.
In those days we knew we were right and we knew things were beautiful.
And now I'm surrounded only by those we fought against.
And I cannot help but think they are winning.
But they cannot win, which is why I'm returning.
Because we have love- true and pure-
Or at least I think we do.
I felt it blazing hotter and brighter than the sun on those scorching days.
I felt it in the eyes of those I saw at my side onstage.
I felt it in our warm laughter as we cuddled on the sectional watching odd movies.
I felt it in the campfire glowing as I tried to tell ghost-stories so dear to my heart.
I felt it in the voice that said, "You truly love your friends, don't you?"
I felt it in my beating heart pressed against the ribcage parallel as we hugged.
I felt it as we plummeted from the sky, singing and screaming, as we had the summer prior.
I felt it last summer, so real and sincere that I cannot help but long for it, more than anything.
And I had my sorrows then, too.
People always have their sorrows.
Yet joy needs to prevail, otherwise a person is left like me, now-
Surrounded by cold wind trying to lock up my heart.
But I have to keep it, both open and safe.
Since I know, if things go back to how they were last summer-
Even if someone takes my heart from my ribcage, it will be kept safe.
Since I will be with beloveds again.
And though they say you can't repeat the past-
If I'm with my beloveds-
I'll have a future worth looking forward to.
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