I and you fell in love by mistake on the evening of March.
The plot is that of almost all teenagers' love stories: we were rebellious, convinced that we could change the world, and we clashed with love when we were too naive and irrational to deal with.
A classic.
We ran behind the butterflies, mistaking them for our dreams and deceiving ourselves that we could only capture them by wanting them a little more ardently.
I and you, as in the script, have ringed together all the mistakes that can commit two inexperienced lovers, violating every voice of the vademecum for healthy relationships.
I and you in the eyes of the world must have looked like the usual two forgotten children who believe in "forever" and who punctually receive a violent and sudden disappointment as a train straight in the face.
Now that I've largely surpassed adolescence, I don't know how to make this story poetic anymore, which is in everything and for all a banal flirt from the obvious finale, but at that time I was able to do it etc..
I was the heroine of my fairy tale, you were my dream and everything seemed more romantic to me than the love novels that I devoured all the time.
Seeing yourself walking towards me with your checked shirt under the May sun, or being able to take a secret picture of yourself while looking at the lake, was always a crackling crowd of uncontrollable and wonderful emotions. It was always a new discovery, a new smile.
Every little detail made the difference, every "we" was a miracle.
You have carved out a corner of my heart that would never come back mine again.
You probably didn't have anything special, just as I was a very distracted protagonist to keep up with the novels on my bedside table, yet when our hands crossed for the first time I had somehow decreed that this was a perfect plot.
There is one thing adults often and willingly forget: under the papier-mache shell of a story between teenagers there is a tidal wave of dreams that hold the world upright.
Although my feelings today are mature, conscious and no longer obscured by the naive enthusiasm of adolescence, I still lack to feel so in love with love.
I hope with all my heart that I never forget that evening in March when rationality did not exist, the world conspired to make us stand together and love could really be forever.