maturing is realizing both of them is wrong. on one side of the mirror stands summer: fiercely detached, averse to the weight of any sacred label, yet continually feeding the fire by indulging the very proximity she claimed to fear. on the other stands tom: blind to the flashing beacons, ignoring every explicit warning sign carved into their shared horizon, stubbornly pressing down on the accelerator of his own undoing. ​ their genesis was flawed from the very first breath. they were two souls drowning in the rigid currents of their own philosophies, entirely unwilling to bend. and the true horror lies in the quiet finality of their eclipse. they do not converge. summer eventually surrenders her hand to a stranger in marriage, while tom remains a ghost haunting his own life. clinging to the phantom of a girl who has effectively died to him, trapped in a perpetual, agonizing grief for a past that will never wake up.