Beach house memories from "summary" of It's Not Summer Without You by Jenny Han
The beach house holds all our memories. Every summer of our lives is here, in these walls. When we were kids, we used to chase each other around these rooms, laughing so hard we couldn't breathe. At night, we'd lie in bed and talk about everything and nothing. We'd make plans for the future, dreaming of all the things we'd do and see. But now, everything has changed.
This summer, the beach house feels different. It's like a shadow of what it used to be. We're not kids anymore, and the weight of our problems hangs heavy in the air. The memories are still here, but they're tinged with sadness. We can't escape the past, no matter how hard we try.
I look around at the familiar sights—the worn wooden floors, the sun-faded curtains, the pictures on the walls. They're all the same, but they feel like strangers. The beach house is a time capsule, preserving our memories in amber. But memories can be bittersweet, and sometimes it's easier to forget than to remember.
We used to be so happy here. The beach was our playground, the waves our lullaby. We were invincible, immortal, untouched by the world outside. But now, the world has caught up with us, and we can't hide from it anymore. The beach house is a refuge, but it's also a prison. We're trapped here, surrounded by the ghosts of our past.
I close my eyes and try to summon those carefree days of summer. I can almost hear the sound of the waves, the laughter of my friends. But when I open my eyes, all I see is the truth. The beach house may be full of memories, but they can't save us from ourselves. We have to face our demons head-on, no matter how painful it may be. And maybe, just maybe, we can make new memories worth remembering.
