Grief doesn't fade. It festers in silence. And some summers never end.
They say time heals.
But seven years later, all we've learned to do is bleed quieter.
She died that summer and the world refused to stop, even though ours did.
Now the lights blind us, the crowds scream our names, the magazines call us legends.
Onstage, we look untouchable. Offstage, we're falling apart.
Because every chord drags her ghost to the surface. Every silence reminds us she's still gone.
But grief has a way of binding people together, and desire has a way of breaking them open.
What we share is messy. Forbidden. Inevitable.
And after seven lost summers, it might be the only thing that can save us... or destroy us.
Because some wounds never heal.
Some loves never fade.
They consume.
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