Looking at the “incoming call” from the woman that 500 Days of Summered me when I was young, as it fades into a “missed call”.

I look over to the random girl I brought with me that I will never like, as I sit back, smoke swirling from my lemon mint hookah, peach mojito in my hand, while cold ocean breeze brushes against my face.

Chicago Freestyle plays in the back, and between the taste of peach and the scent of mint, I’m wondering if the thought of me ever crossed her mind in these past few years.