The friendships we made wrapped around our wrists,
Tied with a knot.
The Chinese staircase of string,
Fit perfectly.

But Summer ended,
As so did we.
Our string still smelling fresh,
And of the lake.

The winds started to change
And the seasons brought change.
The bliss of our Summer love cut off,

With the remainder of string, taken from our wrists.

Dearest dream,
We just hung up the phone.
You miss her,
but I miss you.
Two different hearts longing for one
That doesn't want each other's love.

You tell me you miss me,
and long to hear my voice once more.
I crave and itch for your attention,
but you only want mine.

You desire her's though.
She is taken,
her heart is preserved.
So I guess I'm your backup,
Until she's not reserved.

According to psychology,
Memories are based on perception.
Two (or more) people's recollection of a series of events.

My mind consists of our past, present and future.
The past makes me smile, gives me butterflies,
Present tense, is an empty stomach, writer's block.
The future seems too far,
It seems likely to be without him.

His thoughts on the ghosts of Christmas differentiate:
Past, a good time,
Present, never coming to the mind,
And worst of all, Future,
It is blank, an open canvas, never to be used.

But speaking psychologically,
There is some truth to memories,
But whose are trustworthy enough to believe?